Every Rose Has Its Thorn
by Phases Of Obsession
Summary: Being the owner of a business is hard. Being a queen is harder. Being the mother of a headstrong, rebellious New Yorker-at-heart little girl is the hardest thing Nancy Tremaine's ever had to do. Note: High-T
1. Nancy: Beginnings

Hello! This is a little something I've actually been working at for a while now, but now I'm rewriting it and putting it up. I hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own.

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It's about midnight when I wake, groggy, with an aching back. I really should just move a small bed in here instead of sleeping in a rocking chair every night. I stand, wincing when I hear my spine crackle like Rice Crispy cereal. I look over at the crib in the corner, step closer to it, and smile. Little five-week-old Rose is fast asleep. At peace. Thank God.

I quickly pay closer attention to her breathing; it's still somewhat patchy, but at least it's better than it was when she was first born. The sound of her gasps still give me nightmares, over a month later. But she's getting stronger, something that the doctors really didn't expect to happen. They said that no baby born that early could live. "Well, you showed them, didn't you, darling?" I whisper.

I startle when I feel strong arms wrap around me, but I quickly realize that it's Edward. "She takes after you, you know," he tells me, softly so we don't wake her up. "You're both beautiful and tough."

Chuckling, I ask, "What're you doing up?"

"Missing you," he says, sighing. "Why don't you come sleep in our bedroom for the night? The doctor says that she's out of danger; you don't have to stay with her all the time."

"I don't want for her to be in here alone. What if something happens? Eddie, she's still weak."

"Do you want for me to stay in here instead? Staying in that chair all the time isn't good for you."

I shake my head, even if he's right. "I'm fine. I can wait until she's strong enough to be moved."

Suddenly, we're both shocked by a cry. It's not the loudest, or the clearest, but it's a whole lot more than we expected out of her. I gently pick her up. I'm careful around the small feeding tube that she has in her nose. I hate that thing—it must be so uncomfortable for her. But it's kept her alive and for that I'm thankful. I hold her to my chest and kiss her head, both acts that usually calm her down. This time is like no other. She stops crying and just relaxes, gently looking around. Doctor Hershel says that she probably can't see very much right now, but I think she recognizes me. Wishful thinking, maybe, but it's what I think.

Edward gives me a soft peck on the temple. "I love you both so much."

I hum. "Is this better than the inevitable ginger baby you would've ended up with?" I ask, teasingly.

He pouts at me. "_Nancy_…you know the answer to that."

"What? I'm just the rebound. A very, very long-lasting rebound."

"No, you're my true love. I love you more in one day than I could've Giselle in a lifetime."

"And the sex is better."

"_Nancy_! Not in front of the baby…"

"Oh, you…You're going to be terrible when she starts dating, aren't you?"

I can tell just by the way his lip juts out that he doesn't like this thought. "I say we have a boy. Then she won't have to get married to carry the line."

I stifle a giggle. "Why don't we wait to cross that bridge when we get to it? Let's just be happy with what we have before thinking of having another."

He nods into my shoulder. He kisses the nape of my neck. "I don't think we should think about it at all. I nearly lost the both of you."

I swallow hard, but try to make it playful. "Aren't you being a bit dramatic?"

He kisses me more firmly. "You nearly died. I saw the blood. I'm not going to let that happen again."

"You don't have to worry about that. No one around here is going to be dying anytime soon. She's getting better and I'm as healthy as a horse."

His brows knit together. "What's so healthy about…Was that one of those 'figure of speech' things you told me about."

"Yes, dear," I say, shaking my head at him. "Why don't you get back to bed? Don't you have some sort of meeting in the morning?"

"Oh, of course," he says, sighing. "You know how much the Board of Marketplace Owners love to complain…"

I roll my eyes. "If you want to, I could handle the meeting if you'll stay in here with her. Maybe the Board of Marketplace Whiners just need a woman's touch."

"No, I think I can do it. You just worry about two things: you and her." He yawns. "I'm going to go get a few more hours of rest. Nancy, please, don't stay up all night." He kisses me one more time and leaves.

I look down at Rose. She's still awake, her eyes open and big and blue (they might change once she's older). "Well, now we're in here all by myself, aren't we?" Carefully, I pull the rocking chair closer to the crib with my foot (I don't know why the maid keeps moving it away; I want to be closer to my baby, dammit!). Without pulling the tube, I sit down with Rose in my arms. "You're so lovely, aren't you baby? My lovely, lovely little girl."

I can't contain my grin when she actually coos in response. It's the first time she's done that. I just lightly nuzzle the top of her head with my cheek. I love doing that. Her dark fuzz is incredibly soft. She's a brunette just like her parents. And a sleepy brunette at that. She's already out cold against my chest. I should probably put her back in the crib now. But I don't want to. I think I'll just hold her for a few more minutes. Yeah. Just a few.

It's over an hour later when I feel myself nodding off. I sigh, standing. I tuck her back in her crib, all safe and cozy, before whispering, "Goodnight, my Rosie."

I settle back into the chair, my back already going back to aching. It may hurt, but it's worth it.

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I hope you liked it! Please review!


	2. Nancy: Birdy

Hello! I don't really have much to say other than thank you for reading the last chapter and that I'm hoping you enjoy this one.

I don't own Enchanted.

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"On the contrary," she says. God, even her _voice_ annoys the shit out of me. "I quite adore the notion. It's about time we brought arranged marriages back in the Royal Court."

I sigh, wishing Edward wasn't out meeting some overseas ruler. He'd handle this.

But no, he wasn't there. So I'm going it alone.

And by it, I mean a meeting about setting up a betrothal for Rose.

One can only imagine my emotions regarding this.

"Council, I don't understand why this would be a good idea. After all, Edward and I's marriage wasn't arranged and it's worked out to Andalasia's favor, just judging by the numbers."

Judge Davidson, head of the judicial court, adds, "But what of the marriage before that? You cannot deny that the late King Franklin and his second wife, Queen Narcissa's, union ended in near tragedy."

I nod. "Yes, I am aware of that, but why set the Princess for what could be an unhappy life? After all, the list of possible husbands you've shown me…She doesn't get along with any of these boys…"

DuPont speaks: "Well, we can make her get along with them. She's getting old enough now that she needs to gain a sense of decorum and learn her place as a woman, unless you want for her to be like you were, thirty-four, with no sense of respect or manners."

Okay, I could seriously knock this woman out. I'd love to drop her in New York. She wouldn't last a second. "My daughter is spirited; that makes for a good leader. None of you can deny that."

"But she isn't supposed to be a leader. She is supposed to be the leader's helper. One of the boys on that list is going to become the leader; it's about time to get that into your head."

I try to stay as composed as I can. "And I would like for you to remember that none of this is set in stone." I turn to the rest of the council. "Might I make a request?"

Judge Davidson nods. "The floor's all your's, m'lady."

"Can we wait on this decision? I mean, she's only five years old. Why don't we see if, as she grows up, she warms up to any of her possible suitors? Then we can make the choice."

All of the council agree (well, DuPont doesn't, but she's outvoted). We set another meeting on the matter in six months. I give a sigh of relief. I hate these meetings.

To calm my nerves, I go out to the courtyard where I left Rose and Duke Damian's son, Daniel, and the Duke himself to watch them. Daniel is one of her possible future husbands. He's my favorite of the group—well, his father is my favorite of the group. He's not as prissy as the other fathers and less sexist. I sit down on bench and Rose runs to me, screaming, "Mommy—Mommy—Mommy—Mommy!" She's holding something in her hands.

I smile. "What'cha got there, Rosie-Roo?"

She opens her cupped hands revealing a young, wounded, scraggly looking crow. She grins. "This is Emerson. He was injured and I helped rescue him. Can we keep him?"

I look at 'Emerson' again. He's really rather gross and is probably swarming with germs. "Honey…"

"_Please_," she says with a slight lisp. She just lost her first tooth two days ago and is just learning to adjust without it. "I—I'll take care of him and feed him and play with him and give him baths. I promise!" She gazes at me with those blue eyes, pouting.

Of course, I don't stand a chance.

"Oh, alright."

She cheers, putting the bird down and then throwing her arms around my neck. She has a bit of difficulty (the short little thing…), but nonetheless it makes my sucky day a lot better.

"Hello, Queen Nancy!"

Rose climbs down, allowing me to turn to see my visitor. It's Duke Damian. He was apparently playing something along the lines of hide-and-go-seek. I wave. He comes to sit down. "How was the meeting?"

He nods. "Horrible. DuPont…she's about as close to a witch as the court allows. Just the idea of setting up Rose for marriage! Can you believe that?"

He sighs. "Honestly, it's not that bad of an idea." Before I can object, he adds, "Your Majesty, you have to admit that Rose can be…a very strong personality. Unless you find someone to raise with her, to get used to her, she might never find anyone of her status to wed."

I smirk. "Let me guess, you think Daniel is the one?"

"Well, he's my son. He's already friends with her. Why not set something up that will benefit the both? If she's raised with the idea that she will marry him, she won't have any objections. In my opinion, it would be the best option."

He has a point. "I don't know. I'm going to have to discuss it with Edward before any choices are made."

Laughing, he says, "I'm not sure that'll help matters. The King seems to be against any male that comes near her."

"He loves her…" I say, looking to Rose. But she's not there. "Where's Rose?"

"Daniel!" Damian calls, getting the boy to run to him. He's seven. "Where'd the Princess go?"

"I dunno," he says, shrugging.

"Dame," I say. "You check the gardens; I'll stay around here. She does this a lot. She'll either be here or there."

He nods, and both he and Daniel head in the directions of the gardens. I start poking around the shrubberies, not all that nervous. Rose does, in fact, have a bad habit of running off. It only takes me five minutes to find her sitting behind a bush. She's holding Emerson and stroking him. I plop down besides her. "Hey. Are you alright?"

She doesn't really respond, just continues petting the bird.

"Why'd you run off like that?"

She shakes her head hard, her hair flying everywhere. "I dunno."

God, I hate when she just shuts down like that; I have no idea why.

"Can we go take a nap?" she asks, sounding already sleepy.

I stand, picking her up as I do. I pull her onto my hip. I take her into the master bedroom, tell the maid to call Damian off the hunt, and then curl up with my daughter for a nice afternoon nap.

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Please review!


	3. Rose: Birdy

Heya, all! Here's the next chapter and the plot thickens! Now, I'm just going to make a warning here: things get a lot darker from here on in, alright? So if you are trigger-prone...You might want to stop here.

I've got a question: should I keep this rated T and just put a High-T note in the summary, or should I just change it to M?

I don't own.

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I don't like this. I don't like this at all.

I was out playing with Mommy when she said that she had to go do some work and that I could stay outside if I wanted to and I said yes and she said okay but Damian has to stay with you and I didn't say anything else. So then, she went inside and Damian and Daniel came out. Daniel looks like Damian, except he don't have that little rough beard thing. Their hair is light. Mommy says that it's called blond, but I just think it looks like dirt.

Damian tells Daniel to go find me two different kinds of pink flowers and four different kinds of purple flowers. I don't know why. He picks me up and holds me really tightly and says, "Now, we're just going to find a place to be by ourselves."

He carries me to the far side of the courtyard and puts me down behind the bushes and crawls back with me. He asks me, "How are you doing today, little Rose?"

I shake my head. "Can we go back out now? I don't like it back here."

He pets my arm and it gives me goosey bumps. "No, now, you know we can't do that." He moves his hand down, down, down to my private places. I don't know why they call them that.

"Daddy!"

He says a word that Mommy tells me never to say and stands up and says, "Yes, Daniel."

I sit up and crawl out because I don't like it when he touches me. Daniel's standing there with the flowers and he looks at me and he looks confused and then he tells me I'm weird and then I stand and ignore him because I'm too happy Damian didn't hurt me and only touched me. I don't want for Damian to say anything else so I quickly push Daniel and shout, "Tag!" and I start running. I keep running and running and running all around the courtyard and it must be forever when I finally stop because I see a little black blob. I go up to investigate and I see that it's a little birdy. I like birdies. I pick him up and he has only one wing and he's really dirt so I feel bad for him and give him a hug. I carry him back to the bench and sit down. Daniel comes up and looks at the birdy. "That's weird just like you!"

I hold the birdy tighter. "No! He's not!"

"_Rosie's a weirdo! Rosie's a weirdo!" _he sings and I glare at him because I don't like mean people. Damian's not here anymore. Daniel grabs the birdy from me and runs but I'm faster than him so I can jump on him and get my birdy back.

I take my birdy from him and shout, "No! That's _my_ birdy!"

"Who says?" he asks.

"I do!" I tell him.

"Then what's his name?" he asks.

I don't really know because I haven't named him yet but he looks like an Emerson so I'm going to name him Emerson. "His name is Emerson and he is _mine_."

Then I see Mommy walking up so I run up to her. "Mommy—Mommy—Mommy—Mommy!"

She smiles and I love her because she's so nice to me and she is my mommy. "What'cha got there, Rosie-Roo?"

I love it when she calls me Rosie-Roo.

I hold up Emerson and show her and smile because I want to make her happy so she'll let me keep him. "This is Emerson. He was injured and I helped rescue him. Can we keep him?"

She looks at him and says, "Honey…" which usually means no.

I know I've got to make it look good so I say, "_Please_? I—I'll take care of him and feed him and play with him and give him baths. I promise!"

She grins that I-don't-want-to smiles but says, "Oh, alright."

I give her a big hug because I'm happy that she's letting me keep Emerson and she's so nice. "Hello, Queen Nancy!" I look behind me and Damian's back and he's walking up. I climb off of Mommy and start walking around because I don't like being around Damian and my head's starting to hurt and when my head starts to hurt it means that I'm going to have one of my fits and I don't like Mommy to see my fits because when she does she makes me stay in bed and I can't get out of bed for three days and I get bored. I run as far as possible and my headache gets worse and finally I drop to the ground and then I blink and I suddenly feel very sleepy and I want to take a nap and Emerson is standing there looking at me with his birdy eyes and he asks me, "Kid, are you okay?"

I might be seeing fake things because I thought he was just a regular bird and not a talking bird, but maybe he was just shy before so I ask, "You can talk?"

He nods and says, "Yep. Now, are you alright? You were flapping everywhere. Were you trying to fly or something?"

"No, I have those fit things…I'm sleepy now."

I sit up and scoot near the bush and pull Emerson into my lap and I pet him. Mommy comes and sits down besides me and asks me, "Hey. Are you alright?"

I don't want to answer because I don't want to lie and if I said I was alright I would be lying but if I told Mommy she'd be sad and I don't want that to happen.

Then she asks, "Why'd you run off like that?"

I shake my head hard because I think it'll help me to be not so sleepy but it doesn't work. "I dunno," I tell her. Then I ask, "Can we go take a nap?"

She picks me up and carries me into the castle and we drop off Emerson in my room and then we go into her bedroom and we take a nap.

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Thanks for reading! Please review!


	4. Nancy: Ball

Hey! So I've come to the decision that I'm just going to leave it at High T for now and see how it goes. Thanks to everyone for reading!

I don't own.

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"Rose May, if you do not sit your little butt on this chair right now…"

My ten year old daughter glares at me. It's not just a glare. It's a seething, dramatic glare to end all glares. It's a Rose glare. She slits her eyes at me. "Why should I?"

I take a deep breath and try not to go ape shit. "If you don't, I will literally tie you to me—with a chain!—and drag you where ever I go. How would you like that, missy?"

She plops down at the small table with a huff. God, how I miss the days when her pout was the cutest thing I've ever seen.

Madame DuPont doesn't look up from her teacup. "Your Majesty, I believe your tactics were quite unladylike, as was your behavior, Princess Rose."

I am not going to kill that bat. I. Am. Not. Going. To. Kill. Her. Nope. Unless I hear the word 'unladylike' again, then I am not going to be responsible for my actions.

She starts going over how to properly eat with Rose, with me trying my best not to show how truly bored I am (because apparently looking bored is 'uncouth'). I can't blame Rose for hating her lessons, because God knows I hated them when I first got here. But if I could do it, so can she.

The bell chimes, signaling it's five in the afternoon. I sigh. "Madame," I say, getting her attention. "Would you please excuse us? We need to get ready for tonight's gala."

She nods. "Very well. Princess, don't make a mockery of my work tonight."

I see Rose scowl and I hold back a chuckle. One of us is going to end up murdering that woman, I swear. She jumps up and stomps over to the door. "Come on, Mom. Let's go."

Before DuPont has a chance to respond, I scurry over into the hall and the two of us start walking to Rose's room. She's still pissy at me. To lighten the mood, I swing my arm around her. "Aw, cheer up, Rosie-Roo. It wasn't that bad…"

She gives me that, "Really?" look.

"Okay, it was pretty bad. But look on the bright side, pretty soon the old hag is going to go blind and she'll have to retire. Then, you'll be free."

She shakes her head. "Why do I have to do it in the first place?"

"Rose…We've been through this."

"Why can't I, I dunno, relinquish the throne or something? I don't want to be a princess or a queen or a duchess or anything vaguely royalish."

I pull her into a side hug. "Babe, I'm sorry. It's just something you were born to do."

She groans, then pouts again. "Is Daniel going to be there?"

"Yeah," I say as we reach her room.

She falls flat on her bed, saying something indistinguishable into the mattress.

I roll my eyes. "Quit being melodramatic; he's not that bad. He's only twelve. He'll be better when he's older."

She glares at me. Again. "You're not the one that's engaged to be married to him."

Closing my eyes to fend off the headache I feel coming on, "Rose, you know I tried my best to fight that."

She doesn't respond and instead curls up on her bed.

I pick her up and place her on her feet (it's not hard at all; she's still really tiny). "Come on, I'll do your hair for you."

She moans but goes along with it. She's still pouty as I do up her hair and dress her up. Of course she whines the whole time about women's inequality and all that jazz. I leave her to her own devices as I go and make myself all prim and proper and that kind of shit. I fetch her and we head down to the ballroom.

Of course, our arrival is received with all the hubbub that comes with royalty, but soon we're allowed to socialize. I leave Rose under the guidance of one of the guard after I see Damian. He's looking particularly troubled. I go up to him. "Good evening, Duke!" I say as I walk up to him.

He kisses my hand. "Good evening, Your Majesty."

"Why so…sad looking?" I ask.

He sighs. "May I take you somewhere private? There's a matter that involves the arrangement our children have."

My brows knit together and I pull him to the empty sitting room. We sit on the sofa. "What's wrong? Is Daniel alright?"

Shaking his head, he reveals, "No. He…he thought it would be a good idea to have…er…relations with a sixteen year old handmaid. She is now bearing his child and I believe I have no other choice than to see to it that they are wed or risk shaming the entire family.

Wow…I can honestly say I didn't see that coming. I take Damian's hand. "I understand. So the engagement is off?"

He nods. "Regrettably…Yes. I'm afraid so."

I give his hand a squeeze. "That's alright. You go and take care of your family for now."

Smiles, he replies, "Thank you, Your Majesty. You are a most gracious queen."

The guard that I left Rose with pokes his head it, notices me, enters, and bows. "Your Majesty, we have a situation."

I grit my teeth. "You can't find Rose, can you?"

"No, ma'am." He looks as if he's ready to take a large punishment. He is obviously new.

I stand and go over to pat his shoulder. "Ah, it's okay. She does this all the time. She'll be back before the end of the ball, I can assure you."

He nods and leaves.

With that, I go back to the festivities and the mingling and keeping a fake-ass smile on my face the entire time. Edward arrives from his week long trip to Basks, making me realize once again how much I love him and miss him when he's gone. He subtly whispers in my ear, "Where's Rosie at?"

I giggle. "Your guess is as good as mine."

He sighs. "Again?"

"What can I say? She has her father's sense of adventure."

"But it's her mother's independence that she's following," he says playfully.

"The engagement's off. It's a long story."

He grins. "Good. I never liked him."

I roll my eyes. "You're never going to like any boy who gets near her."

He just grumbles something and greets the Duchess of Someplace. Most of our gala nights are spent like this: just meeting and talking to people and pretending like I remember them when I really don't.

The end of the evening entails saying goodbye to the final guests and having the entire crew search the castle for Rose. She's not back yet. I'm getting nervous. She's never been out this late. Then again, she's getting older; a late night outing is to be expected. It's also raining; she might've taken to some shelter. That's probably what happened. She'll be back home once it stops raining.

But then it stops raining and she's still not back.

She never came home that night.

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Thanks for reading! Please review!


	5. Rose: Ball

Here's chapter five!

I don't own.

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I hate this with the most passion in the world.

Like, seriously. This is some strong hate.

Madame Dupont is currently scrutinizing my every. single. move. It's beyond annoying. It's downright obnoxious. Her and her old beady eyes staring at me, trying to serve tea with shaky hands, hissing at me whenever I do something remotely unladylike. She's like a cat. A deranged, possessed, rabid cat. I place my porcelain teacup down on the saucer, making it chime. She glares at me. "No, no. Softer. A lady doesn't clank."

I stand and step over to one of the nearby bookshelves. I have my so-called 'princess lessons' in the library, so I'm pretty good at figuring out where certain books are. I pull the most vulgar looking one I can see ('Mr. Thompson's Brothel') and flip through it. Ha. It'll infuriate the witch.

Old Madman D doesn't do anything for a solid few minutes. Then, as silently as an old woman can, she walks out with a huff.

I smirk. I know what's coming next, but I think it's worth it.

It's not long after that when she comes back, my mother in tow. I keep reading the book (it's actually semi-interesting), only acknowledging Mom with a small wave. "Rose…" she says in her warning tone.

I continue to ignore her.

"Rose, just come over here and sit. You don't have that much longer," she says.

Okay, strike two. I place the book back on the shelf, but act as if I'm looking through the titles just to throw them off.

She sighs heavily, then, "Rose May, if you do not sit your little butt on this chair right now…"

I finally turn to them. "Why should I?"

She does that shaky breath thing she only does when she's really mad. Okay, maybe I went a bit too far today…She growls, "If you don't, I will literally tie you to me—with a chain!—and drag you where ever I go. How would you like that, missy?"

Giving in, I go and sit back down.

Madame DuPont refuses to look up from her teacup. She does that when she's about to criticize Mom. I think she's actually sometimes afraid to make eye contact. "Your Majesty, I believe your tactics were quite unladylike, as was your behavior, Princess Rose."

You know, I eagerly await the day when Mom snaps and beats that woman.

Of course, the old hag keeps droning on and on about the different silverwares and plates and how to handle them and everything. I just zone out. It's pretty much the only way I've survived it.

Just as she's about to explain the whole finger bowl thing, the nearby clock chimes. I smile.

Mom asks, "Madame, would you please excuse us? We need to get ready for tonight's gala."

She nods. "Very well. Princess, don't make a mockery of my work tonight."

Oh, God, if I could punch out that woman! I should screw it up just to make her look terrible. I jolt over to the door as loudly as I can. "Come on, Mom. Let's go."

Mom quickly follows me and we start to walk to my room. All of the sudden, she wraps her arm around my neck. "Aw, cheer up, Rosie-Roo. It wasn't that bad…"

Okay, really?

She steps in. "Okay, it was pretty bad. But look on the bright side, pretty soon the old hag is going to go blind and she'll have to retire. Then, you'll be free."

I shake my head, feeling the weight of the rest of my life in my chest. "Why do I have to do it in the first place?"

"Rose…We've been through this."

"Why can't I, I dunno, relinquish the throne or something? I don't want to be a princess or a queen or a duchess or anything vaguely royalish."

She hugs me. She's a good hugger. "Babe, I'm sorry. It's just something you were born to do."

I change the topic. "Is Daniel going to be there?"

"Yeah," she says. My belly drops.

We get to my room and I lay down on my bed, face first. I mutter vulgarities at my life into the blanket.

"Quit being melodramatic; he's not that bad. He's only twelve. He'll be better when he's older."

I sit up and look at her. "You're not the one that's engaged to be married to him."

She gives me those 'pity eyes' that I hate. "Rose, you know I tried my best to fight that."

I curl up on my bed. I don't want to be in the same room with that creep. He's almost as bad as his father.

Okay, I'm being melodramatic. I don't think anyone can be as creepy as Damian.

Mom pulls me to my feet. "Come on, I'll do your hair for you."

I let her drag me through the draining process of getting a princess dressed. She fights through my hair and puts me through three different dresses before deciding on the itchy blue one.

She leaves to get ready herself. I grin. I'll have some time to relax. I gently push on one of my walls, opening one of the hidden doors. It reveals a malnourished room only filled with some rather raggedy clothes and random trinkets. And Emerson. Somewhere. I whistle for him.

He flies from a small door leading outside that I've rigged to get him in and out without me. He lands on my shoulder and whispers, "We alone?"

"Yes," I say. He doesn't talk in front of other people. If Mom, or anyone else for that matter, found out he was sentient, he'd be placed in an orphanage for Animals, and neither of us would like that. "Not for long though. I just wanted to see what you were up to."

He shrugs as much as a Crow can shrug. "Not much. How'd ya lessons go?"

I roll my eyes. "Horrible. I hate Madman. She's…ugh. Terrible."

"Ya going to that ball tonight?" he asks.

"I have to make an appearance. But…wanna go out and make a night of it? We could go back to the lake and take a swim. It's getting hot enough."

"I dunno…" he says. "We've been going out a lot. One of these days, ya parents are going to have someone follow us."

I shake my head. "Oh, please. They're too preoccupied. That settles it; we're going down to the lake. I'll be back in about an hour. Now, I better get back in my room before Mom comes back. I'll see you later." I give him a friendly kiss on his head and let him fly off before he can protest. I quickly make my room and myself presentable again, making it just in time.

Mom pokes her head in. "You ready?"

I nod and follow her out into the ballroom.

I, once again, zone out. I really don't like all of these big events and such. After the main 'yay the royals are here' brouhaha, Mom leaves me with a guard named Bob. He must be new, because I've never seen him, and usually 'Ballroom Watch' is one of the first jobs they give out at the Royal Guard. Tonight's going to be easy.

Fifteen minutes after being left with him, I smile and ask him, "Sir? May I please go use the restroom. I'll be right back, I promise."

He nods happily. "Yes, Your Majesty."

I skip off, ducking to make sure Mom doesn't see me. She's coming out of the private salon with Damian. I get goosebumps. I can't pinpoint what, but he gives me the major creeps. I shrug it off and continue down the hall and into my room. I go into the hidden room, carefully closing the entrance behind me. I whistle for Em and begin to shed my dress and change into commoners' clothes for camouflage.

Once I'm all gritted up and my hair's tucked in my cap, I have Emerson perch on my shoulder and we sneak off the grounds of the castle. It's easy with my knowledge of all the secrets doors and stuff. There's one bush at the Northern Wall that moves; that's my usual route.

We head to the lake by foot, since I have yet to find someone who'll sell a horse to a 'street urchin'. The sun's still up, so that just makes things more pleasant.

But as we're halfway there, the breeze picks up into a wind and I notice the clouds going dark. I swallow nervously. "Em, I think we should head back for the night."

"You got it, Princess."

I lightly bop him on the head and turn around. However, the storm grows quickly, going from a drizzle to rain to hail within…I don't know, ten minutes? Emerson nudges me and says, loudly so that his voice'll carry over the noise around us, "Rosie! Ya think we might just want to find us some shelter for now?"

I nod. "That's a good idea. There was a cottage nearby; let's check that out."

I carefully tread south until I find the little shack. It's not very well cared for, but it has a roof and that's all I need. I knock on the door until a large man, all leathered up, answers. I look up at him. "Might I stay in your home until the storm settles?" I ask.

He smirks.

"Come on in."

* * *

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	6. Rose: Work

Okay, this is a little bit later than I had planned, but...It's the Olympics' Fault. The opening ceremony is too cool to not watch with undivided attention.

I don't own.

* * *

Honestly, I don't really remember much from that night. At some point, I must've had one of my fits or something, because in what feels like minutes I wake in a warm bed with the sunlight shining in on me. Emerson is flopped on my chest, snoozing away. I lightly poke him, getting him to groggily look up at me, "Huh?"

"Emmy, what happened?" I ask, just to confirm that it was a fit; I like to keep track of them.

"I…I dunno. We were out and then it started raining and then…It's really hazy."

I sit up, forcing him to hop off of me. "What do we do?"

"Well, we're at someone's house…" he says, looking around, pulling himself into full alertness. "I say we go, say our goodbyes, and get our asses back to the castle."

I nod. "Agreed." I'm still wearing my traveling clothes, but they're now dry, as is my body and hair. I stand. "Come on."

As soon as Emerson hops onto my shoulder, I gently step out of the bedroom and into a hall. I smell bacon and pancakes. I follow the scent so I can find the host and say my goodbyes. I'm lead to a kitchen, where a bunch of guys are around a large dining room table. A particularly huge man is the one cooking. He's familiar. He looks over at me and grins. "Well, well, well," he says, his voice giving me the feeling that whenever he yells, a small island experiences a hurricane. "Look who's up!"

"Yeah…Um, I—I've got to go. My parents are probably worried. Thanks for letting me stay. It was very kind," I say, already starting to walk away.

The man throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me back. "Why so soon? At least stay for breakfast."

Before I can even refuse, he pushes me down into a chair and plops a plate down in front of me. Bacon, eggs, toast, and pancakes. I push the bacon to the side, but nibble on everything else. It's…decent, but the syrup leaves an odd film on the inside of my mouth. Once I realize that, I stop eating.

The man sits down next to me and holds out his hand. I shake it hesitantly. He smiles. "Ah, nice to meet you. Mica W. Ansiras, at your service."

I chew on my lip. I'm not going to give my name.

"So…You stayed the night. Now we've got to discuss the payment…"

"Payment?" I ask, turning to him.

He laughs. "Of course! You don't think I'm going to give you room and board for free, now do you?" He leans over. "But don't worry your pretty little head. It'll only be a few days of work. Nothing too extreme."

I shrug. "Can it be done in a day? I really don't want for my parents to worry…"

He shakes his head. "We'll have to see; it depends on how fast you work."

"Okay, then…Um…Can I start now? I really need to get it done as soon as possible," I reply, standing up.

He joins me and leads me outside, then to the back of the house, finally ending up in the stables. I smile. I can handle horses.

Throwing me a shovel, he says, "Muck 'em. Then, come see me. I'll need to check your work."

"Alright. I'll find you soon."

He leaves and Emerson squeezes my shoulder with his claw. "Rosie, I don't think this is a good idea…Why don't we just borrow one of the horses and make a break for it?"

"Emmy, you're being paranoid. We're fine. I've just got to muck out some stalls and we'll be out of here, alright?"

"Okay…"

It's about two hours later when I go find Mica and show him my work. I wipe the sweat of my forehead, happy that it's over and I can go home and take a long, hot bath. "So," I ask. "Am I done?"

"Not quite," he says, chuckling. "I'm just going to need you too clean up the bathrooms. They're getting rather…nasty, and could use a woman's touch, you see?"

I chew on my lip, feeling once again uneasy. I shake it off; I'll be able to go home soon.

I'm lead to all the disgusting bathrooms and given a scrub brush. I hold my breath and get down to it.

I can just hear Madame Dupont screaming it now. Princesses do not clean toilets!

That's really the only thought that keeps me going throughout all of the grime and grudge. Okay, maybe being a princess doesn't look so bad right now. I'm not meant for being a maid. Stable girl, sure, but no maid.

It takes a solid three hours to get done.

And I vomit several times.

Finally, I go up to Mica. "Everything's clean. I've got to go now. I've more than worked enough for one night."

Yep, way to be assertive, Rose.

He places his hand on my back and pushes me towards one of the back bedrooms, knocking Emerson off of his place on my shoulder. When we're in the room, he locks us in. Alone. I swallow nervously.

Smirking, he sits down on the bed. "I know who you are, your majesty."

Okay, this is good. No one will hurt a princess.

"Then what's the problem? My parents can reimburse you for my single night. Money, jewels, workers. Whatever you want."

He sighs. "But, see, here's the problem: I want you."

My empty belly drops to my stomach.

"You're a damn good insurance policy. I can do whatever I want, get whatever I want, if I have you dangling over the King's head."

"You can't do that—"

In a blink, he leaps up, grabs me by the throat, and hurls me into the corner. Little white stars flutter into sight as I hear a sharp hiss of, "I can do whatever the fuck I want! Now, if you so much teeter over the line, disobey me, I will slit your fucking throat, you understand?"

I nod as fast as my sluggish head can. "I—Okay! I—I'll do whatever—Don't kill me, please!"

He gets up and steps over to the door, cracking it to yell out some name I can compute. Soon, a skinny man steps in, grinning. Mica tells him, "We need to make sure little girlie over here obeys. Can you do that?"

The man comes forward. "Of course I can…I'll make it a night she'll never forget."

Mica leaves, leaving me alone with the man.

I'll have nightmares about this for the rest of my life.

* * *

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	7. Nancy: Fear

So...here's the next chapter!

I don't own.

* * *

I'm not going to cry in front of the Council. I'm their queen, I can't show that weakness.

"Your Majesty," Dr. Cornall asks. He's currently in charge of moderating our discussion. "Have you given any thought to what would happen should Princess Rose not return?"

I gape, feeling my stomach turn. I shake my head. "No. She's going to come back. She—she's only been gone for—"

"Eight months."

"No. Seven months, two weeks, and three days. Not eight months. It hasn't been eight months yet."

Dr. Cornall purses his lips, looking uneasy. "Very well. However, we have another issue to discuss…"

I close my eyes.

"Duke Damian's accusation of child molestation."

"Now," Judge Davidson says, passing out some papers to the Council. "Since our last meeting, three more girls have come forward saying he abused them on varying degrees."

"Could you elaborate on that?" asks Dr. Cornall. "What do you mean by 'varying degrees'?"

"One child described genital fondling and another said there was penile penetration. We've had pretty much everything in-between."

"Queen Nancy, Your Majesty, I hate to imply anything, but did Princess Rose ever spend time alone with him?"

I nod, trying my best to keep from breaking down. "She—She did, but I don't think…She would've told me…"

"Your Majesty," Madame DuPont says, glaring at me. "I do not think you realize the full extent of—"

The last strand hold my wits together just snaps.

"Don't you fucking tell me I don't know the full extent," I scream. "My daughter is out there—God knows where—Out alone—She might even be dead! I realize that. I know that there's a very good chance that I won't ever find out what happened to her! And, yes, I realize that it's my fault! I know that I sent her off to—to spend time with that bastard and that he's probably molested her or—God forbid—worse! I know that's why she left. I couldn't protect her, so she just left…Because of me. So don't you dare tell me I don't realize what's going on."

As I frantically wipe away the tears that leaked out of my eyes, Dr. Cornall stands and steps over to me. "Your Majesty? Why don't we reschedule this meeting and I can escort you back to your commons?"

I get up. "I can escort myself, thank you."

With that, I leave, heading towards the bedroom. I collapse on my bed, curling up with a pillow. It's pathetic, I know, but sometimes I'll just close my eyes and pretend I'm holding her instead of a plush object. God, I miss her so much. It's just this constant ache in me that I can't shake. Even on good days, I can't stop thinking about where she is, what she's doing…If she's alive…

In a quick movement, I scratch my arm with my nails, leaving bright pink trails. I can't let myself think that. She is alive. The princess never dies in the fairytale. The princess is never molested either. Stuff like that just doesn't happen.

I hear someone come in behind me. It must be Edward because he climbs on the bed with me. I feel him kiss the back of my head. "How did it go?" he asks, gently…tiredly.

I turn to face him. He looks so old…We both do. But where I've been a game of Russian Roulette—there's a chance that I'll keep my bearings, but then there's a chance that I'll just crack like a dropped vase—he's kept himself controlled, only letting himself break when he thinks I can't see or hear. But I always do. I sigh. "It…I screamed at DuPont. She—She just…She pushed me too far. We ended it early. Nothing got done."

He strokes my arm. "We got a confession out of Damian…"

"Did Rose…?" I ask, desperate for a no.

He closes his eyes and nods.

I bury my face in his chest, letting myself cry. "I let this happen," I say, but it comes out sharp and gaspy.

"No, you didn't," he says. His voice is teetering; he fights the tears off harder than I do.

"Please, can I kill that bastard?" I ask.

He sits, pulling me up with him. He places his arm around my shoulders protectively. "Nancy…"

"Don't tell me he's going to get away with it. He can't get away with it. She's the princess for God's sake."

Taking a shaky breath, he replies, "No, no. He's going to be punished. But to get the confession, we had to promise to knock the death penalty off the table. He's going to be in prison for the rest of his life, but we can't kill him."

"Can we torture him?"

"No. I'm sorry; you know I want for him to pay as much as you do, but…I think, now, we should focus more on Rose."

"How can we focus more?" I ask, my former agitation coming back, making my tone rise. "I thought that's been our highest priority since the day it happened?"

"Well," he says. "Now we know why she left. If we can somehow make it public that he's in prison, she'll see it, and come home."

"But we can't make it too public; what if she comes back and that's what everyone's talking about? Or worse, what if she hears about it, doesn't want to face it, and decides to never return—" I say, then hiss, moving to scratch my arm once again. I do it twice; once for talking of her never returning and again for speaking of Rose as if she was a coward. As if she is a coward. Which she isn't. Any girl who is willing to save herself from the terror of that bastard cannot be a coward.

Edward takes my scratching hand in his, gently stroking my fingers. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

"I—I just…I don't even know anymore."

Kissing me once more, Edward replies, his voice soft and strong and everything I need right now, "I know, my love. I know."

* * *

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	8. Rose: Hell

Just a quick warning that this chapter has some adult themes. Nothing really graphic, but they're definately there.

I don't own.

* * *

I vomit for the third time in the last hour.

Okay, so I should be done. I should be able to get up, move around, maybe try to sneak a bath down in the creek. I always throw up exactly three times when I have what I call my 'breaks'. In such breaks, I toss down several pain pills that I shoplift, not enough to kill myself (after all, I'm not suicide. No matter how much I wish I were dead, I am not suicidal. That would be too counter-productive), but just enough to make myself sleep for a day, maybe two. God only knows what those creeps do to me while I'm out (the ache in my nether regions tell me they did something), but I was out, so, really, I don't care.

I slip out of my cage—well, it's not literally a cage, but it might as well be—and try to leave the cottage (read: prison) as silently as I can. However, just as I'm about to make it out, I hear Mica sing, "Oh, Princess,"

I jolt around to make sure none of his cronies are around to hear my title; they're not.

"Think you're gonna sneak out on me, you little slut?"

I shake my head, trying not to meet his eyes. "No…no—I—I just—"

He smacks me across the face in a flurry. The force sends me slamming against the wall. But, I stay standing.

"Don't lie to me, whore, or I'll bury you alive."

His threats have lost their power. I chuckle humorlessly. "Well, I'm already in hell."

I expect another hit, but he doesn't. He just stands there. Then he sits, sighing, "And how do you think that would end? It would kill your parents. Imagine it: a loving mom, a loving dad, torn up inside after the death of their only child, their pride and joy. To make matters worse, you know they'll have to try and conceive again; they have to have an heir. But just your birth nearly killed your mother, didn't it?"

How does he find out this shit?

"That's what I thought. Having another kid would kill her. Probably the baby too. Edward would just waste away until he dies of grief. That's three deaths right there. So, do you want to be a murderer? You walking out that door would be like pulling the trigger. One move. Three dead."

I slump to the ground. "Alright," I say, feeling my voice crack. "I was trying to go out. I just want to go take a bath. I won't say anything. I promise. I'll go straight there, straight back."

He yanks me up by the hair. "Be back by sundown. A second later and I'll beat you into the middle of next week."

As soon as he loosens his grip, I scurry out to the stables. I run down to the last horse on the right, a large, black creature named Beast, and see Emerson perched on the horse's head. I leap onto the horse—my horse—and burst out of the building before Emerson can utter a word. I have Beast gallop at full speed until we reach the creek. As I slow him down, Emerson lands on my shoulder. "Rough day, I'm guessing?" he asks.

I nod, jumping off of Beast and pulling off all of my clothes as I walk down to the water. I'm not even going to pretend to be modest. Everything modest about me was taken away by those boys Mica calls men. I ease down, feeling the cool liquid engulf me. This is the first time in months that I've felt remotely clean. Then again, I'm not clean. Sluts can't be clean.

Emerson lands on the top of the water and takes to floating around. He nuzzles me with his head. "Are ya alright, kid?"

"Am I ever?" I ask, my voice a lot weaker than it used to be.

"We could go, Rosie," he says. "We could just run. We'd be back home before nightfall."

I shake my head. "He'd catch us. Em, I—I may want to die—"

"Don't talk like that—"

"But I'm not going to do that to my parents."

"You don't think this is hurting them? Not knowing where their kid is? Rose, it's been a year and a half—almost two years! No offense to you, but I don't think ya going to be able to hold on much longer. You're wasting away to nothing—"

"That's just it," I say, feeling my tone rise. It's very crackly. Probably because I haven't spoken this loud in…in…a long time. "I am nothing, alright? I've lost anything of what I used to be. I am not a princess. I am a slut—"

"Don't talk like that—"

"And sluts do not get that happily ever that the princesses get, okay? I mean—how could I even look at my mother in the eyes again? I've lost everything. They—They want their little girl back, not the dirty piece of shit that I've become. I'm ruined, Emmy. Don't you get that? I—I want to go back, don't get me wrong, but…I—I don't really think I deserve it."

He eyes me carefully. "You're getting skinnier. I don't like it."

"I have to be like this. It's either this or be fertile and…I—I really don't want to go through that whole ordeal again. One forced abortion is enough, don't you think?"

"I—I just hate this."

I pull him close to my chest. "Me too."

We stay like that for about another ten minutes before I decide to pack up and head back. I don't want for it to be near sundown when I get back.

I put Beast back in the stable and kiss Emerson goodnight (he doesn't stay inside because he doesn't like to see what goes on in that cottage). I take a deep breath and head back inside. I try to do the reverse of what I failed to do this morning: sneak back in, but, of course, Lenny, one of Mica's 'friends' catches me. "Well, well, well, what do we have here? A nice little piece of ass, eh? All wet and slippery for me?"

I don't fight it when he pushes me against the wall, licking and biting at my neck like some sort of rabid, drooling dog. Right there, in the middle of the fucking hallway, he starts to pull off my clothes.

In a blink, I'm lying against the wall, sore and tired. I don't know why, but I (nearly) always black out when that happens. I guess I should be happy that I don't have to be alert when one of the men are doing…that to me. I try not to dwell on it.

I drag myself back to my cage, flop onto the towel known as my 'bed', and slide into a restless sleep.

Well, at least I was only screwed once today.

* * *

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	9. Nancy: Pain

I don't own.

* * *

I don't want to get up today.

I really don't want to get up today.

Actually, if I never have to climb out of this bed again, I'd be happy. If I could just stay here, in the dark, and curl up to die, I'd be ecstatic. God, that sounds so suicidal. Hell, maybe I am. Suicidal, I mean. How easy it would be to take some pills or slit my wrists or hang myself by a belt.

But I can't do that. Not with all of Andalasia counting on me. Not with Edward counting on me.

I flip over to face him. He's awake, his eyes just barely open and glazed over. He spends this time the same way I do: thinking. I cuddle into his side. His pajama shirt is soft. "She's thirteen today," I mumble.

"I know." His voice is so strained, almost hoarse. His vocal cords are tired of all the shouting he does on the searches.

"Can we not face today?"

"We have to."

And I know he's right.

Some people have suggested we still celebrate her birthday. Sort of an incentive for her to come back home. But what could we do? I'm not throwing a party; I'm not going to put myself through something that she would hate in the first place. I've heard a few people ask if we were going to have a sort of memorial thing. But she's not dead. I'm not going to act like she is. She can still return. I'm praying that she does.

So, we don't do anything special; that would be too heartbreaking. I'm not just going to let myself sob over the could'a-would'a-should'a. Instead, we just go about in our usual ways. I go over a bunch of suggested laws and ideas and charities and all of that taxes and baby kissing shit. He goes out to check the statuses of the nearby towns (all while keeping a keen eye out for dark headed teenage girls; he's had false alarms five times in the last month.). We act like it isn't Rose's birthday. We only acknowledge it again about midday, when he comes back from another search party. He sighs, sitting down on the sofa with me, moving the legal papers I was examining without thought. His eyes, those big blue puppyish things that I avoid looking at because they remind me of her—they just look so sad. "I miss her," he says, barely a whisper.

I slide my hands around his neck, just holding him. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his to comfort the both of us. "Me too."

"Am I interrupting something?"

We both jolt up to our feet, glaring at our new intruder. It's…I don't know. A human, most definitely. A short human. But the voice…the voice is like nothing I've heard before. It's almost robotic sounding, clicky and metallic, but we don't have robots in Andalasia, so…It scares me. I have no other ways to describe the actual person because they're wearing thick, baggy black clothes and a hood, shadowing off their face. It takes me a second to recognize the flicker of a pistol in their hand.

"Who are you?" I ask, my shoulders straightening to appear more intimidating. "What do you want?"

It shrugs. Whoever it is, it's very animated. "That—that's not really important," it says quietly, almost as if it was hurt or something. "I just came to deliver a little bit of news that I think you two deserve to know."

Despite the gun, I step forward. "Well? Out with it."

"Rose is dead."

Everything in my world stops.

No.

Everything in my world dies.

My stomach becomes a pit of dread and I feel myself walking closer to the person. I have to see its face. I have to know if it's truthful. It's the only way

It holds the gun, pointing it at me. The voice is quick, panicked when it says, "Come any closer and I'll kill you too!"

Wait.

…

…

It killed Rose.

My body lurches forward, charging for the monster. My hands go straight for the throat, but then I remember the gun. The gun! I knock the seemingly frozen murderer's hand away, throwing the gun to the side. I reach up to scratch its eyes out, but suddenly it tackles me, both of us flopping to the ground. It's holding me in this grip—it's not that strong, but it's determined. I decide to go with it. I wrap my arms around its neck, pulling it into a headlock. "Edward!" I yell. "The gun! Shoot it!"

I get onto my back so that he has a good shot at the beast, who's trying to pull away like a rabid dog. Within the second, Edward is standing above us, pistol in hand, aiming the weapon at its back. His hand is shaking. He shoots once and misses completely.

At that, it goes into a crocodile-like death roll. It's smart; it knows Edward won't shoot if there's a chance I'll be hurt.

Then again, I'm pretty smart too.

I release it and launch up, yanking the gun out of Edward's hands. The monster is about half way to the hall way, so I just release a whole shower of bullets in that general direction. I see it wince. Bingo.

Once I run out of ammo, I go to chase it, but Edward holds me back, reeling me into his arms. "Nancy," he says, begging. "Please, don't. I'm not loosing you too."

That's stupid, I want to tell him. I could take that son of a bitch any day of the week. But then I see his eyes. They remind me—

Rose is dead.

Rose is dead.

My legs grow shaky and I lean on Edward for support. He lets me down slowly, kneeling as well. He's holding me tighter than he ever has.

"This is a nightmare," he murmurs.

I wish it was.

* * *

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	10. Rose: Pain

"Oh, Princess…"

God, I hate when Mica wakes me up. Just the sound of his voice makes me jump from my peaceful sleep into deer-during-hunting-season mode. I quickly sit up. "Yes?"

He's leaning in the doorway, holding a small box and a black jacket under his arm. He tosses me the jacket. "Put that on. You've got a mission to do."

I do as told, pulling on the heavy material as I follow him. Dang. This coat has a pistol in the pocket and must be four times too big for me. I'm sure it's for a reason. Mica always has a reason.

He takes me to the stables, to Beast and Emerson. He throws the box at me, nearly missing my head. I don't catch it, but I quickly pick it up off the ground. Inside of it is a small white…thing. Mica takes it out and shoves it in my mouth. Starting from under my tongue, an odd tingling feeling spreads all in my gums and lips. "What is it?" I ask, only…

It's not my voice.

It's this…I don't really know how to describe it. It's almost as if a bunch of voices joined into one to form my words. It scares me.

He laughs. "Just a bit of magic. Don't want for you to be recognized, do we Princess?" he teases as he pulls the hood up and over my head. He lifts me onto Beast. "Now, listen, you little whore," he growls. "You're gonna go to the castle and drop by to see the queen—oh, don't pull any of that 'I can't sneak in' shit; you know that place better than anyone—anyway, you're gonna go in and you're gonna tell them that their precious little girl is dead and then you're gonna leave, got it? You do anything I don't like, it'll be the last thing you do, alright? Does your little slut brain get it?"

I swallow hard and nod. "Why?" I ask. "Why are we doing this?"

He chuckles. "I just want to piss them off. I wanna torture them; it'll be fun."

No.

He wants to torture me.

After letting off a deep growl, he smacks Beast's rear, sending the horse off into a run. It takes me a full five minutes to slow Beast down to let Emerson catch up. Once he does, flying down, landing on Beast's head, he asks, "That…"

"I don't think I can do this."

"I know." He sighs. "Is…is there anything else we could do? Rosie, anything. I don't care how ridiculous."

"We could run. Just…They'll think I'm dead and we could just leave it at that—not forever! That—that wouldn't…I—I just need—Dammit, Em, I need a break. Just a little break. Maybe a year, two tops. I need to have a bed to curl up in, some decent food…Even if I could go somewhere where I'm not being fucked everyday…That's…"

"Let's do it," he says, quiet but determined. "You're parents'll live. Do this. Make them call off the search. This could be your last chance."

I nod. He's right. If I'm going to do it, then I've got to do it now.

I'm going to have to break my parents' hearts.

It's a several hour trip by horse, even a fast one like Beast, but finally I make it to the town that surrounds the castle. I leave Beast tied to a pole on the outskirts and finish the trip by foot, alone. Emerson waits with Beast.

I sneak to the back bushes and go through my old secret hole. The familiarity makes me smile, if only briefly. I make it to the hidden entrance that leads to the unused hallways that I used to use to get out of balls and galas. I'm just going to keep walking around until I hear voices.

It takes up just about half of my day, but then, I do. It's soft, but there:

"I miss her." It's Dad.

"Me too." Mom.

I don't think I can listen anymore. I take a deep breath and move out of the hall and into the sitting room. They're sitting on the couch together. The sight of them just…God…I don't want to do this. But I have to. "Am I interrupting something?" I ask, trying to sound as casual as possible. They both jump up onto their feet. I pull the gun out to be a threat; Mom was always jumpy and I don't want to get attacked.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Mom asks, her voice…it's defensive, but it sounds so good to hear again.

I shrug. "That—that's not really important. I just came to deliver a little bit of news that I think you two deserve to know." It's the truth.

Mom—the look on her face! I think she's expecting something good. "Well? Out with it."

I blurt, "Rose is dead."

Her face falls. She moves closer and I grow weary; I don't know what I'll do if I get too close. So I scream, "Come any closer and I'll kill you too!"

I'm frozen on the spot. Every muscle in my body just…refuses to work.

Which is really bad because Mom charges me.

She knocks my gun away and—I can't help myself.

I hug my mother for the first time in nearly three years.

Of course, because of the force, we both fall to the floor. If this were a normal situation, we'd both be laughing like fools. But it isn't.

Mom reaches around my neck and starts squeezing, cutting off a lot of my oxygen flow. I pull and pull and pull, and then start to panic when I hear her yell, "Edward! The gun! Shoot it!"

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

The gun goes off once, missing me, and I realize it: my parents could kill me. So, I roll onto my back, pulling Mom onto my stomach, slipping her a small kiss to the temple, as if that'd make everything okay. I know that Dad won't shoot if Mom's in the way.

Shockingly, she lets go and flops off. Did she recognize me?

When I realize that she's reaching for the gun…No. She didn't recognize me.

I run as fast as I can, even when I hear the loudness of the gun and the pain of a bullet piercing my upper arm. I keep running until I'm well into the town, and even then I go at a solid trot until I reach Emerson and Beast. I pull myself on the latter's back and keep riding.

"Rosie!" Emerson shouts over the wind. I slow down to hear him. "How'd it go?"

"How do you think?" I ask, pulling out that damn contraption Mica gave me and throwing it to the ground. "They tried to kill me."

"Well…We have a problem."

I groan. "What is it?"

"I…I overheard a few of Mica's goons talking. They were saying something about tomorrow night and long live King Mica or something like that…"

I sigh. "Emerson, just give it to me straight; I can't handle thought right now."

"Rose, I think they're going to overthrow your parents."


	11. Nancy: Discovery

Heya guys! So...here's the next chapter.

I just wanted to add a R.I.P. to Marvin Hamlisch. He was one hell of a legend.

I don't own.

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I wake to the sound of a cocking gun.

"You scream, I pull the trigger," a raspy voice whispers.

I look up and, vaguely, see the hooded person that…It takes all of my strength not to reach out and strangle it. It's standing over me, in the middle of the night, pointing a gun at my head. I grit my teeth. "Go ahead," I reply back. "Do it. I don't give a fuck."

"And leave him behind," it asks, nodding at the sleeping Edward. "That's cruel."

I want to yell; I want to throttle that monster.

But I don't.

Getting my brains blown out won't help the situation at all.

"Get up," it barks. "Get him up too. Both of you. Up."

I poke Edward, nudging him back into consciousness. He sees it and startles. "Nancy?" he asks.

"Go with it. The thing's got a gun," I reply, feeling oddly unaffected by all of it. I guess I've had enough devastation for one day.

Once we're standing, it adds, "One wrong move…Got it?" Then, pressing the barrel to the small of my back, puts a blindfold on me, and then, I presume, Edward. "Sorry about this," it says, stretching some sort of tape over my mouth. Then, everything goes quiet except for Edward and I's breathing. "Good," the thing finally mutters. "You can both breathe. That's a good thing. Now, let's walk for a bit."

As we're led to wherever this monster wants us, I can't help but wonder if this is the monster. I mean, it's pretty obvious that they're somehow connected—this is all too much to be coincidental—but it would make me feel better if I'm not being kidnapped by a murderer. I don't think it is. The voices are far too different. Whereas the other was very…other worldly, this one is a lot gentler, yet strained. Like a smoker. So, no, this isn't the same person.

We're stopped somewhere outside. I feel myself being semi-lifted up onto a horse. "Could you just lift your leg—okay, yeah." Edward is seated behind me. The thing itself plops on in front of me. It pulls Edward's hands around my waist, then my own around it. "Hold on tight," it says.

Joltingly, we take off at full speed, and, you know what, I really don't care, because, at this rate, what do I have to loose? If nothing else, I'll probably end up with the chance to avenge my daughter—if these two are somehow together—and I'll take that opportunity any day.

As it turns out, riding for hours on end can get very tedious and, eventually, time starts to blend together. I'm somewhat woozy from the feeling. I think I pass out because, all of the sudden, we slow down gradually, finally pulling to a stop. The thing tells us, "You can take off the blindfolds and tape and stuff. There's nothing to see and no one to hear you out here."

I do as told (and yes, the tape hurts. A lot). We're, basically, in the middle of the woods in what appears to be the middle of no where. The person ties their horse up, but then takes some rope, ties it around my wrist, does the same with the other hand on Edward's wrist, then attaches it to the tree. They're all very sturdy knots that will probably require a knife.

I sit down against the tree I'm bound to, still feeling slightly dizzy. "So, what do you want from us?"

It pulls out some fruit from a saddlebag, then hands it to us. "Here. Some food; you two must be starving."

Edward, rejecting the food, just says, "You didn't answer her question."

"I…I want a lot of things. This is my way of getting one of them."

"And what would that be?" I ask.

"Safety."

Edward's eyebrows scrunch together and I can tell he's thinking the same thing I am: What?

It goes up to the horse—a great big black stallion—and pulls an apple out of the bag before giving it to said horse. "Good boy," it whispers, stroking the muzzle softly. It pulls the gun out of its pocket and hands it to us. "I'm going to go sleep for a bit. Don't be afraid to use that. Just…please, please don't use it on me."

With that, it turns to go under another large tree, but stops midway. A gurgling scream erupts, shocking me out of my dizziness. It drops to the ground and starts just convulsing. It's a seizure. I recognize it because Rose had them when she was little.

I scratch my wrist.

I am not even going to think about the topic; I'm not going to break down right now.

"Nancy," Edward says, forcing my attention to him. He holds up his wrist—he's gotten the tie off! In some odd combination of his fingers and teeth, he's able to make quick work of mine. At that, I don't really know what to do. We can't really leave—I don't want us getting more lost than we already are.

The thing has calmed down. I guess I should make sure it's still alive, after all, it is our only way back to civilization. I kneel down next to it, resting my hand on its chest. It's still breathing. That's good.

I'm suddenly faced with an opportunity: I could unmask my captor. My stomach twists at the thought. I'm tempted to keep the anonymity—it's a lot easier to keep a mental picture when you don't see the person's face. I'm afraid of what I'm going to see.

But I pull down the hood anyway.

And I scream.

Edward comes up behind me, asking, "Nancy, my love, what's—is that…?"

The girl is young—a teenager, at oldest—and obviously very sickly. She's pale and gaunt and—dear God her eyes are so sunken in—but she's still recognizable.

It's my Rose.

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	12. Rose: Discovery

I don't own!

* * *

I swallow hard. I can't believe I'm about to do this. I mean, this is despicable. But it's for their own good. It. Is. For. Their. Own. Good.

I'm about to kidnap my parents.

I've ridden back to the castle, Emerson nestled safely in my bag so Mom and Dad won't recognize him (I've got my hood up so they don't put anything together—at least not until we're way out of Andalasia). I softly step through all of my secret entrances and through all of my hidden holes (of course, despite it being well into the middle of the night, the help is abuzz after this afternoon and the news of my 'death', so I have to be extra careful). It takes a lot of tense creeping, but I finally make it to the master bedroom.

My parents are both asleep, which is exactly what I'd hoped. It'll make things a lot easier. I pull out my unloaded (stolen) gun (triple checked just to make sure there was no ammo). I can't think of a way to wake them up, so I just fake cock it in the hopes that it'll stir them.

The plan works with Mom. Her eyes quickly crack open and her mouth opens. Before anything, I tell her, in my growliest voice possible, "You scream, I pull the trigger."

She glares at me. "Go ahead. Do it. I don't give a fuck."

"And leave him behind? That's cruel," I reply, feeling the weight of a planet sized ball of guilt fall on me. I'm resorting to Mica's tactics. She stares at me. "Get up," I tell her. "Get him up too. Both of you. Up."

She pokes Dad. He jumps a little. "Nancy?" he asks, gazing up at me. My father is a giant freaking puppy, I swear.

"Go with it," Mom says, her voice sounding creepily monotone. "The thing's got a gun."

They stand up, taking their sweet time. I feel sweat rise on the back of my neck—we're taking too long. I need to get them out of here ASAP. I eye them. "One wrong move…Got it?" I bark out at them, quietly. Of course, I don't tell them what I'm going to do at 'one wrong move'. Maybe hug them or something.

I hold the gun against Mom and blindfold both of them. I tape up their mouth. "Sorry about this." I go silent, letting myself judge their breathing (if they were congested or something, I'd poke a few holes in the tape). When I hear the soft hum of them inhaling, I say, to myself, "Good. You can both breathe. That's a good thing. Now, let's walk for a bit."

With slight pressure to both of their backs, I get them to move into the secret door and into the hallway that no one ever uses. I'm careful not to let them make too much noise.

I get them outside and next to my horse. I do my best to lift Mom up onto Beast, but I'm not strong enough—I guess I should probably start eating more. "Could you just lift your leg?" I ask. She does. "Okay, yeah." I manipulate Dad to get behind her, placing his arms around her waist. I hop on in front, pulling Mom as close to me as possible. "Hold on tight," I warn them.

I give Beast a soft kick to his ribs and we take off, him proving that he must be the fastest horse in Andalasia.

Being so fast, he carries us to my pre chosen location (the direct middle of the Highland Woods) a solid hour before expected. Along the way, I feel heat gather in my upper arm—where Mom shot me. No. It cannot be getting infected. At first, I just shake it off, but by the afternoon my head goes bleary. Still, I push on, until the middle of the night when we hit, by my calculations, our bullseye.

I slow him down, pulling to a stop. I crawl off and have my parents do the same. "You can take off the blindfolds and tape and stuff," I tell them. "There's nothing to see and no one to hear you out here."

After tying Beast up, I do the same with my parents. The knots aren't that complicated; I'm sure they could figure it out if they tried. But I'm feeling too damn tired to care.

Mom sits down and glares at me. "So, what do you want from us?"

None of us have eaten all day—myself all week—so I pull out some fruit from Beast's saddlebag. The smell, though fresh, makes my stomach lurch. I give them all of it. "Here. Some food; you two must be starving."

Dad doesn't pay it any mind. "You didn't answer her question."

I hold back a sigh. "I…I want a lot of things." I want for my parents to accept me. I want for this wound to go away. I want to eat without fear of becoming hospitable for a child. I want a nice warm bed to crawl into. I want to forget all of this happened and go back to being happy. Hell, if I could just make it where I'm not so God damned afraid all of the time. "This is my way of getting one of them."

Mom, being the poky creature that she is, asks, "And what would that be?"

I choke out the most simple one that I'll (hopefully) gain. "Safety."

To calm myself, I step over to Beast and give him an apple from the bag. "Good boy," I tell him, petting him, an act that's more to sooth me than him.

I'm really, really tired.

I hand my parents the gun. It's still not loaded, but it's plenty threatening. "I'm going to go sleep for a bit. Don't be afraid to use that. Just…" I whisper for fear that my voice will portray my mental state. "Please, please don't use it on me."

I turn to go over to another soft looking tree when a headache slams me like a hammer. I hold back a moan.

And that's when things went black.

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	13. Nancy: War

Right now, all I can think about is Rose.

I snuggle against her sleeping form, taking in everything. She…she's looking pretty rough, but she's here, that's all that matters.

I run the back of my hand over her forehead again. Damn it; her fever hasn't gone down. I don't know how, but she got a nasty scrape on her upper arm, a scrape that has since gotten infected. I keep trying to use all the medical skills I have to treat her, but I'm falling completely short. Edward, using the horse and a map that was in the saddlebag, is currently trying to find the nearest town to get help. God, I hope he hurries up. I…I just got my baby back; I'm not going to loose her again.

She lets out a little moan and opens her eyes just a bit. I stroke her cheek. "Hey…shh…just relax, darling. You're okay."

"Momma?" she asks, searching for me. I think the fever has messed up her sight; she isn't focusing right.

"Yes, yes, it's me. I'm right here."

She hums and passes out once again.

I sigh and sit up. This should be a wonderful occasion. After three years—three fucking years!—she's back. And she's dying right in front of me. I don't know whether to rejoice or sob.

I hear the unmistakable sound of horse hooves in the distance. I squint my eyes—it's Edward, looking…Oh, shit. That's not a good facial expression.

He leaps off the horse and—God, he needs to realize he's getting older and needs to slow it down a little—face plants. I rush over to him, helping him up. His eyes are bigger than usual and I think he's shaking.

"Nancy," he sputters. "Nancy—it—it's horrible. They—there's been and attack on the castle. We—there—it—"

"Eddie, Eddie, calm down. Take a deep breath. What's going on?" I tell him. Poor guy's had such a rough day.

"There was a massive attack on the castle. Some terrorist group was going to overthrow us. Nancy! Someone wants to kill us! There—there was apparently a knife stuck in the bed. Director Jacobson—he thinks we're about to start a war."

I pull Edward into a hug, rubbing his back, trying to digest it all myself. Someone tried to kill us. We're no longer safe in Andalasia. I pull away and look at Rose.

Wait.

That's why she kidnapped us. It's the only reason. It's too much of a coincidence that she pulled this the night before an attempted assassination. She somehow knew about it and decided to do something about it and—holy shit, she saved our lives. Here she is, starving and sickly and lonely and young, but yet she still did this.

"You're going into hiding."

I snap around to face Edward. "What?"

"I—I'm not going to have you anywhere near here when there's this plot going on. I've got to make sure you both are safe."

"And where do you suggest?" I whisper. I know where he's going with this, but I…I just need to hear it out loud.

"New York."

I nod. "You're going to go too, right?"

He lets out a sigh. It's one of those I'm-about-to-tell-you-something-you-don't-want-to-hear sighs. "Nancy…"

"Eddie, no. You—you need to be safe too."

"After my family, my duties lie with my country. If this is really war, then…Don't you think I need to stay? I promise you I'll make sure to be careful."

I bury my face into his chest. "I don't want to break this family up…not after we just got it back together."

"I know…" He lightly shrugs me off and grabs a tub of medicine. "I was able to find a doctor. He said that if we put this on the would every three hours, it should be cleared up within the week."

I take it from him and go to sit down by Rose. I pull her into my lap, the scrape facing up. I gently rub in some of the strong-smelling gel. She doesn't respond.

"We've got to go back to the castle," Edward says. "We'll get you two through the portal as soon as possible."

I close the jar and pick up Rose—God, she's so light! Edward helps me prop her up on the horse.

As I get up, I loose my balance and my leg slams into the apparently unused saddlebag—we peeked into earlier and found nothing. I softly swear at the slight pain. However, the odd thing is, I hear a squawk. And a muttering of, "Watch it…"

I open the bag and see nothing but black. I grab the black anyway.

Whatever it is, it fights me. I manage to pull off the dark coverings without loosing the creature.

Holy crap.

It's that damned crow Rose picked up when she was five!

"You can talk?" I ask him, recollecting everything I can about him. I didn't interact with him much—Rose kept him pretty hidden—but I remember that his name is Emerson.

A sort of smile comes onto his features. "Uh…caw?"

"Since when can you talk?"

"Since when did ya pay attention to me?"

"Okay, good point. But…you…you've been with her the entire time? You let her live like this the entire time?—You know what, forget it. I'll interrogate you later. Right now…just…Okay, can you at least tell me where the hell you two have been? I deserve to know that."

He shakes his head. "I don't think ya wanna know that, to be honest."

I let out a breath. "Just…is she okay otherwise? I—she hasn't really been lucid and I—I just don't know and…"

"I can tell ya, in all truths, that she is alright, but she ain't alright. She's been hurtin', but it can be fixed. Now, anything else, Ya Majesty? Or can we actually get outta here?"

I nod in agreement, letting the bird perch on my shoulder as we set off.

* * *

Please review!


	14. Nancy: Travel

Hey guys! The updates are going to be a little more spaced out from here on in, but still regular.

I don't own.

* * *

Of course, the ride back to the castle is a lot more complicated than the previous venture. For one, the horse is growing overworked and tired, not to mention rebellious against Edward's lead (something tells me he listens to Rose and Rose only). Two, several townspeople from the nearby village have insisted on accompanying us, to act as bodyguards. While I greatly enjoy the safety the larger number provides, I despise the lack of privacy. And third is the fact that we have to slow for a few minutes every three hours to apply Rose's medicine.

At about seven hours in, I notice Edward himself starting to exhaust. I don't say anything. I can't help anyway.

It's nearly thirty minutes after my observation that Rose stirs. She's been in and out of a very low level of consciousness ever since we left the impromptu camp, but nothing strong enough for her to speak. But this time—this time is different; I can feel it. She slowly turns to look over at me with sleepy eyes. She glances at Edward in front of her, then back to me before leaning back, resting her head firmly against my chest. I barely catch her whispering, "I missed you."

I stroke her head. In the blunt sunlight, I can take in more of her. Right now I notice how wiry her hair is, and how it's still dark, but with almost a red cast to it. "I missed you too, baby. So much."

"I'm sorry…"

I feel my heart shatter for what feels like the billionth time in the last forty-eight hours. She…she thinks this is all her fault. She's apologizing for simply following basic human instincts: run away from bad situations. She has no blame in this—I do. I've failed her for thirteen years—I've got some serious making up to do.

"Shh…shh…it's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

She hiccups against me. She's crying. "You…you don't understand—"

"Yes, I do. Calm down, sweetheart. You're sick. You need rest."

She shakes her head, but says nothing more. I kiss her forehead. God, her skin is dry. When's the last time she's had something to drink? "I love you."

She falls asleep, but it doesn't last for too long; I accidentally wake her when I smear on that gooey white cream. She grimaces at, I guess, the smell. "What's that?" she asks, her voice meek and raspy.

I sigh. "It's medicine. You have an infection in your arm."

"Oh…" She looks down at the ground moving below us. "I'm sorry."

"No. Don't. It's not your fault." I screw on the jar's lid.

Rose eyes Edward, then asks, "Um, is he alright? He—Is he in some sort of trance or…?"

His head is down and bobbing. My ears pick up a light hum. I can't help but smile—probably one of the first 'real' smiles I've had in a long time. "Only your father could fall asleep while riding a horse."

The corners of her mouth turn up as well. "I…I really missed both of you."

I gently cuddle her. "Trust me, we both missed you too."

In my arms, she asks, "Who're all these people?"

I didn't want to tell her. I really didn't want to tell her. Not yet. She doesn't need that stress. But I'm not going to lie. She deserves to know. I take a deep breath. "There…there was an attack on the castle. It's going to go into a war. So, these people are escorting us back to the castle just for safety measures, alright?"

"We're going home?" she asks. I can just hear the tired hope and glee bursting out in every syllable.

"I—I…no, baby. It's too dangerous. But we're going to go to my homeland. I think you'll like it. You'll get to meet my parents and my brothers and sisters and—dear God, you'll adore your Aunt May. She's very…you-ish. Knowing the both of you, you'll probably have adopted twenty animals within the month."

I see Rose smirk. "That sounds fun."

"Well, you know what? You can adopt any animal you want. Dog, cat, miniature pig, whatever—"

"Emerson!" she cries out, searching the skies frantically.

"Whoa, whoa," I tell her, rubbing her shoulders in an attempt to calm her. "He's here somewhere. I got quite the shock when I found out he could talk."

She turns away. "I'm sorry."

"Stop it. It's fine. Do you hear that? _It's fine_. Everything. Everything is fine. And—"

She slams back into me, sending my natural reaction into holding her. She whimpers, "Tighter."

I squeeze as much as I can without suffocating her, startled by her sudden change in mood. I look down at her—oh God, she's _terrified_. But of what? Surely not me…well…maybe I was a little too forceful. I'm going to have to remember to stay calmer.

Her breath starts going faster and faster and more shallow and—okay, what's happening—why is she hyperventilating? I coo, "Rose, Rosie, sweetie, just relax—take slower breaths—Rose—"

I feel her push harder against me, burying half of her face. "Make—gasp—it—gasp—g—go—gasp—away…"

I stroke her back as soothingly as I can, trying not to freak out, when, let's face it, I _am_ freaking out. Majorly.

Edward chooses this moment to wake up and ask, "Huh?" He looks back at us and his eyes immediately go alert. "Nance—Nancy, what's wrong with her?"

"Nothing," I tell him, more for Rose's benefit. "She's fine. She's safe. She's healthy…Rosie, you're alright. Calm down…That's it…just take deep, slow breaths…Good girl."

Her massive panic attack starts to settling to smaller sobs and squeaks. I notice the impromptu guards all watching us. I wave my hand and their attention turns back to themselves (apparently). I just keep rocking and cooing over Rose.

She doesn't say another word for the entire trip.

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	15. Rose: Travel

Hey! Guess who's back! Sorry it took so long. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

I still don't own.

* * *

I don't know what immortal deity decided to try to kill me, but it's doing a damn good job.

Everything is achy and tired—I can't move. I can still feel, so I'm not paralyzed, but I've lost pretty much all mobility.

So I go back to sleep.

This happens several more times before I wake feeling, while not good, a hell of a lot better. I actually manage to open my eyes and look around. I'm on Beast—which makes everything better automatically; he makes me feel safe. Steering him is—No…it's my dad. Someone's holding me—Oh, God, it's Mom. I snuggle into her. "I missed you," I tell her, ignoring how raspy my voice is. I have to let her know that.

She strokes my head like she did when I was little. I can see her looking right at me—Can she tell from looking at me what I've been doing? Is she disgusted? Is she ashamed that her daughter's a little whore?

"I missed you too, baby. So much."

That makes me feel better. But still… "I'm sorry."

"Shh…shh…it's not your fault. None of this is your fault."

She doesn't realize how wrong she is. I'm the one that went out that night. I'm the one that didn't fight against them—those bastards. I'm the one that has been her source of problems. A hiccup shatters through my body, causing the soreness to increase. "You…you don't understand—"

"Yes, I do. Calm down, sweetheart. You're sick. You need rest."

I shake my head. No. She can't understand. She can't know about any of this. I don't want for her to. I won't let her. Oh, God—what if she knows? What if she knows that I let myself become nothing more than a slut?

She kisses me, but it doesn't relax me. Instead, my utter tiredness and pain pull me back under into the realm of sleep.

The next thing I know is the feeling of cold goop on my arm. The smell is strong—almost that of pure booze—and I feel like puking. "What's that?" I ask.

She doesn't stop. "It's medicine. You have an infection in your arm."

"Oh…" I'm suddenly pulled back into the moment where I was standing in the castle, taunting them in the worst way possible. My injury was nothing; they suffered a lot worse. "I'm sorry."

"No. Don't. It's not your fault," she says as she re-lids the jar.

I don't agree, but I am in no place to fight her. Instead, I look at Dad. He's slumped over, almost as if he were dead. It sends my neck hairs straight up. "Um, is he alright? He—is he some sort of trance or…?"

Mom smiles—it's that sweet smile that she gives to bunnies and puppies and other cute things. I like that smile. I missed that smile. "Only your father could fall asleep while riding a horse."

I can't help but grin. I haven't had a funny moment in a while. "I…I really missed both of you."

She holds me and it's like I'm never going to be hurt again. Pure, unadulterated security. Then she says, "Trust me, we both missed you too."

Then I notice all of the other men on horses surrounding us. It makes me uneasy—the men and not knowing who they are but knowing what they want. Men only want one thing. "Who're all these people?"

She sighs and I just know it's not going to be good. "There…there was an attack on the castle. It's going to go into a war. So, these people are escorting us back to the castle just for safety measures, alright?"

The thought of my bed and my room and even the ole' Dupont just makes me so happy. "We're going home?"

My happiness dies when she frowns. "I—I…no, baby. It's too dangerous. But we're going to go to my homeland. I think you'll like it. You'll get to meet my parents and my brothers and sisters and—dear God, you'll adore you Aunt May. She's very…you-ish. Knowing the both of you, you'll probably have adopted twenty animals within the month."

The thought of me, Mom, and a woman that must look like Mom all sitting surrounded by animals makes me smile. "That sounds fun."

"Well, you know what? You can adopt any animal you want. Dog, cat, miniature pig, whatever—"

At the listing of animals, I'm struck by the thought of Emerson. I cry out his name and look everywhere for him. Mom starts rubbing my back. "He's here somewhere," she tells me. "I got quite the shock when I found out he could talk."

I never told her about that. She just went thinking he was my pet. I pretty much lied to her. "I'm sorry."

"Stop it. It's fine. Do you hear that? It's fine. Everything. Everything is fine. And—"

Everything is fine. Everything is fine. I've told myself this so many times. A flood of images and feelings and emotions sweep over me and all of the sudden I'm back in that room with one of those men looming over me. I pull back, away, and catch a comforting pressure all around me. "Tighter," I say, and it does. Yet the man comes closer. He viciously rips off my clothes and—

"Rose, Rosie, sweetie, just relax—take slower breaths—Rose—"

I try to back away from the creep, but it doesn't work. He starts undressing—

"Make—it—go—away…" I cry.

And he does it. He forces himself on me without a second thought. I'm back in that room, pulverized and pounded and violated. I'm disgusting again.

"…Rosie, you're alright…Calm down…That's it…just take deep slow breaths…Good girl."

Every word she says sounds distant, but growing nearer. I start to regain the sense of her rocking me and cooing and comforting me. Within the minute, I'm completely back on the horse, in her arms. Safe again. I'm tired though. Exhausted from what that man did to me—Did that really happen? Am I crazy?

I don't say anything else. A crazy slut should be quiet.

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	16. Nancy: NYC

Hello, all! Time for another chapter. I would like to give a little shout out to Cissy Black Malfoy for the help on some of this chapter.

I still don't own.

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We arrive at the castle in the middle of the night. However, there is no time to relax or recover from the long-ass trip. We're rushed straight to the portal well. I look down into the seemingly bottomless pit that used to lead straight to Times Square (of course, we had it rerouted to some small park for Nathaniel's occasional visits). I take a deep breath and look at my husband and my daughter. She's still kinda out of it, not meeting my eyes, while Edward is just borderline crying. He pulls the both of us into a tight hug. "I love you," he says.

"I love you too. Are you sure you can't…?" I ask, hopeless as he backs off.

"No. I'm sorry. Be safe, alright?"

I nod. "I will. Visit when you can. Please."

"Of course. I…I've got to…I…Goodbye." He kisses me, then Rose, and then runs off, either to gather a defense, assess damage, or cry. Maybe all three.

I turn to Rose. "Are you ready?"

She doesn't respond.

"Listen, I'm just going to go first so I can catch you, alright? Just go down this well—follow my lead." After she slightly nods, I jump down the well. I keep my eyes closed, remembering how creepy it was the first time I went through this. It's pretty easy until I lurch forward and slam onto the semi-wet grass. I sit up, already feeling several bruises form on my body. However, I stay where I am, knowing Rose will probably land where I landed. And I'm right. She comes flying out and lands on top of me with a squeak, her head slamming against my face. Okay, add a black eye to those bruises.

She scoots off of me and just stares. Hell, I stare back, examining my daughter for the first time in the detail that this universe provides. I will admit, most people in Andalasia look so generic, even myself and Rose. But in New York and its surrounding universe, everyone is unique. Rose has these cute, frizzy little baby hairs that have never shown up and—holy crap, she inherited the schnoz. The schnoz, neither hers nor mine, never showed up in Andalasia, but it's pretty damn present here. I can't help but smile—she looks quite a bit like me. A lot like me. Except her eyes. Those blue babies are all Edward.

I don't think she finds this as pleasant as I do. "Mom?" she asks.

Grinning, I reply, "Yes."

"You…It's…" she slurs, looking all around her.

"I know. It's different. It's not bad once you get used to it." I stand up. Though it was around midnight at the castle, it's still daylight in the park. "Come on, let's get you back to my apartment."

"Apartment?"

"Yep," I say, pulling her up. "It's pretty nice, for an apartment. I mean, it's not the castle—oh, just to go ahead and say it, you need to remember, we are not royalty, alright? When we're here, we have to pretend that Andalasia doesn't exist. I'll tell you more in a bit—now I want to get you into a bed and let you rest."

She accepts the answer and follows me out of the bushes. I lead her out of the park and to the main highway before hailing a cab. I stop her from immediately getting in. "This is going to be pretty weird, but just pretend it's a carriage and everything will be fine, alright?" I ease both of us into the car and we take off. Rose looks freaked, but she just closes her eyes and snuggles into my side. It takes about twenty minutes to get to my complex, but right as the cabbie pulls onto the side I realize: I have no money on me. Crap.

My eyes shoot to Carl, my building's security guard. I roll down the window. "Hey! Carl!"

He looks at me and his eyes go so wide I can see the entirety of his irises. He rushes over. "N—Nancy?"

"Hey…Um…would you help me out here? I, uh, I need a couple bucks and it's all up in my apartment…I'll pay you back as soon as I get up there."

Still looking frightened, he pulls out his wallet and gives the driver the amount. As he helps me get out, he sees Rose and, damn it, those eyes go even wider. "You have a kid," he deadpans.

"Yeah," I tell him, gently pulling her out of the car. "Carl, this is Rose. Rose, Carl."

"You have a _kid_," he says, yet again. "What? When? Where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Who's the dad? You weren't raped, were you? Where is the dad? Is he paying child support? Are you—"

"Carl!" I yell. "Calm down. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I got married, hence Rose. It's a long story. Can we just go up to my place and get your money? Rose is sick and I'd like to get her in bed."

"Alright," he mutters and follows me into the elevator. "So…she's cute."

Rose, who, once again, has her eyes closed, doesn't respond. I kiss the top of her head. "I'm pretty fond of her."

"I can tell."

The elevator dings, letting me out on the fifth floor. Carl walks me to the second door on the left, my apartment. I smile at him. "Okay, just give me a second and I'll find you the money—"

"Don't worry about it. You looked…um…stressed. I've got to go back down to my post before the boss gets mad. But, listen, call your family. They've been worried sick ever since you left."

I swallow hard. I was hoping to avoid that issue for as long as possible, but now it's right there in front of me, ready for confrontation. I nod anyway. "Will do. I'll pay you tomorrow, okay?"

"That's fine. Goodnight, Nancy, Rose." And with that, he leaves.

I go inside my old apartment with Rose, all of my old memories assaulting me. Everything is the same. Everything. There's not even the thin layer of dust I was expecting. It's all clean. I have a sinking feeling in my belly when I see a notebook propped up on my kitchen counter. It's a letter. From Mom. Crap.

However, I have more important matters to attend to first. Rose—poor thing, she looks exhausted. I pull her over to the couch. "Just sit down and I'll get you a bath ready, okay?" She nods and I head to the bathroom. I flip the water on and analyze my tub. It's still the same jacuzzi-like bathtub that I bought myself for my birthday one year, but it's clean. Painfully clean. Scrubbed-with-a-toothbrush-clean. And I have a bad feeling I know who cleaned it.

After the water is drawn to an appropriate level, I go back out to fetch Rose. Apparently, she had other ideas. Curled up on her uninjured side, she's passed out, slightly snoring. I hold back a chuckle. She's so cute when she's sleeping. I grab a blanket and toss it over her, not wanting to wake her. She needs her rest more than she needs a scrub down.

But that leaves me with that letter. I sigh. I don't want to read it, but I have to. I sit down at the counter and start.

_Nancy,_

_I don't know if you'll be back to read this. I don't think you will; you haven't come home to read any of the rest of them. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that we've all been keeping up your place since you've been gone. But, darling, please, please call me when you come home. Please. I miss you. We all miss you. We need to see you and know for sure that you're okay. Please call. Please give me some peace of mind. Please._

_I love you and miss you._

_Mom_

Of course, it startles me. I left them a letter of my own, fourteen years ago, telling them that I was fine and not to worry about me. In hindsight, however, I realize that it wasn't enough. I was selfish to think it was. I think about how much it would have killed me if Rose left for thirteen years leaving a simple, 'I'm okay' letter. And now the guilt sets in.

Feeling heavy with that regret and stupidity, I pick up the phone and dial Mom's number. It rings a few times before I hear a, "Hello, Rosario Tremaine speaking."

"Hey, Mom…"

* * *

Please review!


	17. Rose: NYC

So, here's a new chapter! I hope you guys like it, though I'll admit, it's a bit filler since it's basically the same thing that happened last chapter without much difference. However, next chapter will be the introduction of Nancy's family, so that should bring in some more elements.

I don't own.

* * *

Mom wakes me up in the middle of the night as we approach the castle. But, instead of going to the stables, we march right into the courtyard, where that old shiny well is. Dad gets me off of Beast and looks at me. I'm afraid that he's about to cry. He grabs me and Mom and hugs us tightly. "I love you," he whines.

"I love you too," Mom says, her voice cracking just as much. "Are you sure you can't…?"

He pulls away. "No. I'm sorry. Be safe, alright?"

"I will. Visit when you can. Please."

"Of course. I…I've got to…I…Goodbye." He kisses the both of us and rushes off, abandoning us. While I get that he might be upset at me for putting them both through all of that crap, I didn't think he'd ever treat Mom like that. Running away. Leaving us.

"Are you ready?"

I snap around to Mom. She still looks teary, but is smiling none-the-less.

"Listen, I'm just going to go first so I can catch you, alright?" Catch me? What? "Just go down the well—follow my lead." Honestly, I think she's gone nuts, but sure enough, she jumps into the well, falling and falling until I can't see her anymore. I teeter at the edge, frightened at the idea of dropping for that long. I can turn back and hide in the castle. But if Mom is doing it, it must be safe. So I jump.

I keep my eyes closed, which I don't really think helped with anything. A slight tickling sensation slowly covers my body. I quickly look, but slam my eyelids down after seeing what looks to be thousands of blue fireflies swarming over my body. Then, I'm thrown in the opposite direction with the force of an Elephant. I land on something and squeak when I feel my head bash into whatever I landed on. I open my eyes and…Holy shit.

Everything looks different. Like, massively different. I can't even describe it. It's just…weird. And detailed. And creepy. And I realize I'm sitting on my mother. I crawl away and—crap, she looks different too. She's the same—I mean, I recognize her as my mother—but there's this little quirks to her face that weren't there before. Like, her nose seems…nosier. And her jawline is sharper. And when did she get those cheekbones. Okay, maybe this isn't her. I ask, "Mom?"

"Yes."

I try to form a sentence, but I end up just stuttering and slurring.

She smiles at me and replies, "I know. It's different. It's not bad once you get used to it." She stands and says, "Come on, let's get you back to my apartment."

"Apartment?" I ask, thinking of some of the shacks I've seen that are called 'apartments'. Shacks that I can't picture Mom setting foot in.

She pulls me onto my feet. "Yep. It's pretty nice, for an apartment. I mean, it's not the castle—oh, just to go ahead and say it, you need to remember, we are not royalty, alright? When we're here, we have to pretend that Andalasia doesn't exist. I'll tell you more in a bit—now I want to get you into a bed and let you rest."

Do I have a shit load of questions? Yes, but I'm too damn tired to ask anything right now. That bed sounds heavenly. I follow Mom out of the bushes into the broad daylight (it was night in Andalasia). She leads me to this road where a lot of…carriages? I dunno. There's no horses, but…I just don't know anything anymore.

Mom somehow gets a yellow thingy to pull over and pick us up, but before we get in, she tells me, "This is going to be pretty weird, but just pretend it's a carriage and everything will be fine, alright?"

We both get in the thingy and I just close my eyes. However, it's hard to imagine anything else I've ridden in because, well, it's a lot more comfortable than anything else I've ridden in. I lean against Mom because I don't really know what to do.

"Hey! Carl!" I hear Mom shout and I jolt up, startled. I shake my heavy head—I guess I dozed off.

A scared looking older man rushes forward. "N—Nancy?"

It's weird hearing her without a royal title.

Mom chuckles nervously. "Hey…Um…would you help me out here? I, uh, I need a couple bucks and it's all up in my apartment…I'll pay you back as soon as I get up there."

While she may not be queen, she still must have power because 'Carl' does exactly as told. And after that, he helps Mom get out of the thingy. Then he stares at me. And then he stares some more. "You have a kid," he says.

Mom pulls me out of it and it rides off. "Yeah. Carl, this is Rose. Rose, Carl."

"You have a kid," he says again, making me wonder why he's so flabbergasted. "What?" he asks. "When? Where the hell have you been? Are you okay? Who's the dad? You weren't raped, were you? Where is the dad? Is he paying child support? Are you—"

"Carl!" Mom cuts him off. "Calm down. I'm fine. Everything is fine. I got married, hence Rose. It's a long story. Can we just go up to my place and get your money? Rose is sick and I'd like to get her in bed."

Bed. It sounds so nice.

Carl agrees and we go into this really tall building. We get into this small box-like room and—holy crap, this one moves too. I close my eyes.

"So…she's cute," I hear Carl say.

Mom kisses my head. "I'm pretty fond of her."

"I can tell," he says, sounding amused.

There's a ding and Mom pulls me out of the room. We walk down a hallway and stop at a door. Mom grabs a key from a nearby plant and tells Carl, "Okay, just give me a second and I'll find you the money—"

He cuts her off. No one cuts my mom off. "Don't worry about it. You looked…um…stressed. I've got to go back down to my post before the boss gets mad. But, listen, call your family. They've been worried sick ever since you left."

Suddenly, I can feel Mom's mood thrown. "Will do. I'll pay you tomorrow, okay?"

"That's fine. Goodnight, Nancy, Rose." And he leaves.

Mom uses the key and leads us into her apartment. However, this isn't the kind of apartment I was thinking of. This one is nice, clean, and spacious. She has shiny kitchen counters and contraptions that I don't know what they are. There are many buttons that I feel an urge to push.

Mom leads me into the next room, which is some sort of sitting room. She has me plop down onto a couch and tells me, "Just sit down and I'll get you a bath ready, okay?" I nod and she leaves.

My body becomes weighted and hard to hold up, so I fall to my side, only letting myself relax until she comes back.

And of course I fall asleep.

* * *

Please review! It makes this author happy.


	18. Nancy: Family

Hello! Here's the next installment which includes (dun. dun. DUH!) part of Nancy's family.

Again, I don't own.

* * *

"Hello, Rosario Tremaine speaking."

"Hey, Mom…"

There's a sharp intake of breath on the other line. And then, "Nancy?"

"Yeah…It's me."

No response. For several minutes. Has she passed out? "Mom? Mom are you okay?"

"You…it's you."

"Yes, it's me. I'm fine. I'm at my apartment so if you'd want to—"

"Yes! Yes, I'll be right there—are you okay? Where have you been? Have you been…Oh, God, Nancy…I've missed you."

I'm struck by her last words and how many times I've said and thought that about Rose. The guilt hits me again. I've put them through hell with only a note saying I'm okay. Not only am I a sucky mother, I'm a sucky daughter too. "I, uh…yeah…How're you? Are you alright?"

"I am now. Nancy…I—I'm going to call your father and sister—they need to know—unless you want to—should I—can I get you anything?—Are you—should I pick up some food?—"

"Mom, Mom, calm down. I'm fine. I swear. And, well, honestly, some food would be great. I haven't had a full meal—it's been a few days, but that's a long story. Just—is Dad…Everything's alright with everyone, right?" I ask, suddenly worried that things have happened without me realizing.

"We—we're all fine. But, God, you nearly sent us all…We've been so worried. Don't disappear like that again. Please. I—I'm going to get off—I just need to text May and tell her—I'll call right back—Please, _please_, promise me you'll pick up again. Please."

Damn it. The begging. It's breaking my heart. "I will, Mom. I promise."

"Alright…I love you. It'll only take me a minute. I'll call right back. Okay…Bye."

I'm left for a few seconds to compose myself. Okay, while I'm probably going against Lizzie Borden in the worst-daughter-in-existence competition, but I can fix this. I can. I just have to put myself in her position—hell, I'm nearly in her position already—though the big difference is that while I'm a grown woman, and was such when I went off and married Edward, and left a note saying I was okay, Rose is just a little kid with nearly no survival skills—actually, no, I take that back. She's made it as long as she did without dying, so she's more independent than I previously thought. Anyway. But even if Rose was an adult and I knew, without a doubt, that she could take care of herself, I'd still freak out. Just like Mom is. And Dad probably is. And my siblings—Good God, May probably bought three-hundred tracking bloodhounds in an effort to hunt me down. I'll probably want to pay her back for whatever extravagant search she went on. No telling—

The phone rings and I pick it up quickly. I hear Mom sigh, then laugh. "I was worried you wouldn't pick up."

"But I promised I would. Is Dad on his way too?"

"He and May will be there in…I dunno…five—ten minutes? They're at her place watching the Giants—well, they were, now they're on their way to your apartment and—damn, I missed you. You scared us. You scared me. A lot."

I take a deep breath. "I sent that letter…"

"I know, but…I'm sorry, just with all the nut jobs in the world…You can't blame any of us for being worried." She hums for a second. "I called in pizza—I didn't really want to stop anywhere, so it's being delivered. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's fine. Um…how is everyone? Like, May—has she settled down yet? I just—I don't want to be completely out of the loop when they get here or accidentally say something stupid…"

"May is May. Do you really think she's ever going to settle down?" Mom asks with a laugh.

"Good point. And has Abe gotten in anymore trouble?"

She lets out this long breath. "Well…"

There's this loud banging on my door, making me wince. "Give me a second, Ma." I set the phone down on the counter and open—holy crap!

May pretty much tackles me with the force of a thousand bears, making me thankful that I instinctively grabbed onto my refrigerator's handle to keep us from both flopping down onto the floor. I can feel her bubble with sobs, though still she, with all of her May-super-strength, squeezes me to the point I can't really breathe. Thankfully, Dad is right behind her, saying, "May, May, get off—don't choke her—" However, because he's Dad, as soon as she let's off, he grabs on, though the intense strangling is switched to a nice, warm pressure. A Dad hug. "I missed you, Scout."

I grin at the pet name. "I miss you too, Atticus."

May shoves him away and yells as she grabs me once again, "God, you haven't been home for…Oh, what the fuck—" She gives me a kiss on my cheek. I jokingly pull on a disgusted expression and wipe it away, to which she pouts, but can't hold it and bursts out in contagious giggles. Of course, because we're women, we hug again.

Dad stares at me. "Are you alright?"

May backs up and gapes. "Shit, Nance, what the fuck did you do to your eye? Where the hell have you been? Did someone kidnap you and force you to write that note—that's what me and Ma think—Anita thought you killed yourself—Tony thought—"

"May!"

"But, seriously, how'd you get the shiner? Do I need to sic my dogs on them? Are you alright? Do we need to take you to the hospital? Do we—"

Dad gently slips his hand over her mouth. "Mayflower, don't you think we should give her a break? She only just got home, after all."

May nods, scoots over to me, and cuddles into my side, pouting. Dad settles against my other side. He takes a breath and asks, "One question, though. Are you alright? In all seriousness?"

"Yes, Dad. I'm perfectly fine—"

"Nancy!"

I snap around and see my mother charging at me, much like May did. She wraps me in one of her bone-crushers, sobbing hysterically. And then, after that little burst, she totally calms down and her hug loosens to normal tightness. She takes a step back, looks at me, and gives me a kiss on the cheek before just hugging again.

"Mom?"

I hear Rose's weak voice, jolting myself into mommy-mode. I move away from Mom and skip over to where Rose is standing, in the doorway from the kitchen to the living room. Her eyes are still drooping, but even so I can just see the confusion within them. I smile at her—I have to let her know that everything's okay. "Yes, baby? Did we wake you up?"

"Yeah…" she mumbles.

"Well, do you want to go to bed? I have a bed in the back; it'll be a lot more quiet back there. Do you wanna do that?"

She nods and I lead her back into my bedroom. She crawls into my big fluffy bed and I hear her whimper a little, which makes me grin. She's out within the second. I tuck a blanket around her and kiss her forehead, wishing her some peaceful sleep.

I leave the bedroom and join the rest of my crew in the kitchen. Of course, all eyes are on me with shocked expressions. Very shocked expressions. Actually, I think May's jaw is about to come clean from her skull. I just shrug. "What?"

Of course, none of them are too happy with that answer.

* * *

Please review!


	19. Rose: Family

Here's the next chapter! I'm afraid this one is very filler-ish, but I hope you enjoy it anyway! Another thing, I've said this before, but I just have to repeat myself; if you think that I need to bump this up to M, please don't hesitate to tell me.

I don't own anything but the OCs.

* * *

"May!"

I jolt awake, startled, yet still groggy. I blink several times, willing myself to wake up a little more when all my body wants to do is go back to sleep.

"But, seriously, how'd you get the shiner?" I hear a female ask. Someone's in the house. That's not good. "Do I need to sic my dogs on them? Are you alright? Do we need to take you to the hospital? Do we—"

She's suddenly replaced by a muffled, noise. Someone's choking her. I feel my stomach sink in worry. I sit up—I have to find Mom.

"Mayflower," a man's voice says. "Don't you think we should give her a break? She only just got home, after all."

Is that a threat to her? I really can't tell. His tone is friendly, but, really, that means nothing.

I hear him take a breath. "One question, though. Are you alright? In all seriousness?"

"Yes, Dad." Oh, thank God. It's Mom. And…the man…my grandfather? My grandfather is a woman smotherer? "I'm perfectly fine—"

"Nancy!" another woman yells. There's something…different about her dialect. It's more sing song, sort of, and very quick. I hear an 'oof!' (Mom?) and then some very loud crying by the woman…Okay. This is weird. But then, it just stops. Even weirder.

I move around the corner, waiting, and taking them in. The woman, probably the second one, is hugging Mom. She's about the same age as the man, my evident grandfather, so…my grandmother? However, she looks nothing like Mom. Everything about her is darker. Her skin is a ripe tan and her hair is an almost unnatural black. She's a lot shorter as well. I have no idea how they can be related.

My grandfather, however, does resemble Mom. Sort of. Not really. But a lot closer than the woman. He's as pale as the other one is dark. Tall, blond, and lanky. He's smiling, very warmly. I feel good about him, especially seeing as the other woman, the first one, isn't in any state of distress even after the smothering. I guess it was something else. I misjudged. Whoops.

I think the smotheree is my mom's sister, because, unlike Mom, she looks like she belongs to those two. An eclectic mix of the two. She's the first one to see me, her eyes widening to comical extent. Her mouth opens, but I want to get in the first word.

"Mom?"

My mother jumps around, totally ignoring her apparent family. She rushes over to me, grinning, and looking extremely happy. I guess she missed these people. "Yes, baby? Did we wake you up?"

I'm not going to lie to her. "Yeah…"

She gently rubs my back. "Well, do you want to go to bed?" That would be a yes. "I have a bed in the back; it'll be a lot more quiet back there. Do you wanna do that?"

I nod, but note how much looser she is. Less strained. There's a more…I don't know…almost raw quality to her now, even just in aura. She walks me deeper into the apartment—hell, even her walk is different. She's not keeping the impossible posture, slouching slightly.

Of course, all thoughts of her pseudo-personality change dies when I see the huge bed. I'm practically drooling as I climb into the purple blankets and—dear God, it's like a big, fluffy cloud. I'm wallowing in heaven, my eyes closed. I feel her tuck the covers around me and kiss me.

But then things go dark. I'm sitting in the middle of complete darkness. It's spreading everywhere, in all directions. Just complete overwhelming darkness. It's frightening.

"Well, well, well…Lookie where we are, Princess."

I snap around and hold back a scream. Mica's there, smirking that smirk of his. He steps forward, but I run run run…My legs are burning, but I keep going. But then I slam down as if some large force pushed me. I try to get up, but my body is suddenly heavy—to heavy for me to handle. I moan. He laughs. "Hey, Princess, it's good to see you too."

He lands a swift kick that marks the start of a beat down. He kicks and punches and slaps and just keeps going. Over and over and over again. Then he jumps onto me, his hand grasping around my throat, squeezing until I can't get in the slightest breath. I feels his fingers, while still as strong, become skinnier. I peek at—Oh God, it's one of _them_. One of the men who have a ravenous taste for young girls. I try to gasp, but it still doesn't work. He grabs at my shirt with his free hand and yanks until it gives away, exposing my chest. He licks and nips at my neck and then bites down on my collarbone, breaking the skin. He continues down, slobbering all over me. He makes it down to my pants and laughs, finally releasing my throat. He pries the cloth open at the seems and does away with my underwear.

I squeeze my eyes closed as tightly as possible and think of anything, _anything_ that can distract myself. I think about riding Beast through the forest. I think about Emerson, flying through the sky—crap, where's Emerson? I didn't have a chance to find him before we came here. What is this—ouch—what is this place—God, I…I just wish I could die sometimes.

But it ends—Thank God—and he climbs off of me. I don't dare to move, I don't dare to breathe. I just stay frozen.

But then I hear my mother mutter something. I sit up, looking at her. She's standing above me, glaring at me with a dark gaze, and fiddling with a gun. "You know, I could really kill you and my life would be easier."

I try not to gape. "Mom…Momma?"

"Shut up!" she screams, shooting the gun.

I turn away, waiting for the bullet to pierce.

It doesn't, but I feel a light shaking. I look—it's Mom. We're back on the purple bed and she's smiling. "Rose," she says.

And it's my Mom. My bright, happy, sweeter than sugar Mom. It was just a dream.

* * *

Please review!


	20. Nancy: Answers

Here's the next chapter with more blunt relatives! Also, this is my twentieth chapter; that makes me very happy.

I don't own.

* * *

May pulls a Carl with: "You have a kid. You. Have. A. Fucking. Kid."

I smile and give her golf claps, trying to diffuse the situation with some humor. "Yes, dear May, that's why she called me 'Mom'."

My mother crosses her arms and stares at me. Her right eyebrow raises, a cue I recognize as, '_Explain_ _yourself_''.

"Like I told you in the letter I wrote, I got married. It was a little bit of a Vegas thing, but it was still a wedding. And, so…well…you can guess what happened next," I say, gesturing towards the bedroom.

Mom nods that I-don't-believe-you-but-I'll-accept-it nod then her expression goes soft. "What's her name?"

"Rose—"

"God, Nance, naming her after Mom? Cliched much?"

"Rose May Tremaine—"

"Okay, that's better."

Dad eyes the living room. "Is she the only…?"

I nod. "Yeah. My one and only."

Then, Mom grabs me again. "What _happened_ to you?"

I shrug as much as I can. "I got married—"

"Bullshit!"

"May!"

"I'm telling the truth. I got married, I had a kid. Why aren't you—"

I'm cut off by a sharp rap on the door. I answer it, revealing my younger sister, Anita. However, unlike the rest of the women, she doesn't greet me with a tackle-hug. She simply states, "You look like shit."

As she glides by me into the room, her obese medical bag in tow, I reply, "Thanks, sis. I really feel the love."

"Come on," she tells me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me, oddly gently, into the living room and has me sit on the couch. Of course, the entire family follows. Anita wastes no time slapping a blood pressure machine on my arm and putting on her stethoscope. Following that, she silently gives me a full exam. But then she asks me to strip to my underwear. I hesitate, knowing that I must look rough from the 'road trip' and Rose slamming into me. However, I can't just tell them that I rode a horse for nearly forty-eight hours straight and went through a inter-universe portal. So I just say, "I—I don't really want to."

"Dad, go in the other room," Anita barks, causing him to immediately obey. "Now, take of your clothes. Nance, we know you're not bashful. You nearly became an exotic dancer when you were in college. Strip."

I sigh. She's right. So, I stand and tug off all of my clothes. I hear Mom gasp and May mutter, "Damn."

I pout and step into the bathroom to see how bad the damage actually is. I wince at my nude figure. Around both of my shoulder blades, there are angry red marks, I guess from the fall. But there's also several smaller bruises and scrapes (when I got them, I'm not too sure; it's been one hell of a last few days). They're varying in color, which means that I acquired them at different times, which does not look very good for the argument I'm about to make. I look down at my legs, which, as it turns out, are also rather battered. Damn. It.

"Get on the scale," Anita tells me, standing in the doorway.

I scoff. "I'll take that as an insult—"

"Nancy." The glare on Ani's face scares me into hopping onto the horror-machine. It tells me, '97'. I swallow. I know I had lost a massive amount of weight since Rose went missing—Edward had told me of such—but I hadn't realized it had gotten this bad. But now I'm a solid twenty-five pounds lighter than I was when I was at my (healthy) skinniest.

"Well, I think _someone_ is lying to us," May blurts.

"Guys…" I mumble, trying to think of a reasonable excuse as to why I'm in the worst condition of my life. "Can I go put my shirt back on?"

May goes and grabs my shirt. After throwing it at me, she tells me, "Hey, c'mon, we're getting your tot in here so Ani can take a look at her."

Anita, being late to the party, looks bewildered. "Tot?"

"I have a daughter. She's in the bedroom."

And, of course, Anita barges past me and into my bedroom. However, she stops and waits for me to turn on the light and wake the ever-so-peaceful-looking Rose. So, I do, climbing up beside her and lightly shaking her shoulder. She jumps, her eyes wild, but then calms and not-so-peacefully flops onto me. "Rose," I tell her."Sweetie, you have to get up for a few minutes. Just for a few. Then you can go back to sleep."

She moans, but sits up anyway. She blinks at the crowd around her. "Um…wha?"

I sigh. "Rosie, this is your Aunt Anita. She's a doctor and she's just going to look you over, okay?" She nods and I continue. "And that's your Aunt May and that's your—your—"

"Nana," Mom chimes in.

"That's your Nana—my mother. My dad's in the other room. Now, Aunt Anita's not going to hurt you, alright? Just relax and do what she says."

Rose nods and Anita dives in, everyone else silent, for the most part, which is really a miracle for May. I guess she doesn't want to disturb the balance of the environment. Anyway, Anita goes through her rounds without a word, as per her style. Finally, she says, "Go get Dad."

Once he comes in, she quickly takes Dad's hands and places them on Rose's neck. I stare at her. "Ani, what the—what're you doing?"

She pretty much shoves him out of the way and has Rose tilt her head, revealing dark bruises previously concealed by the shadows. She bites her lip. "A man has tried to strangle her. Recently. Rose, strip."

Apparently, this order frightens Rose. She looks at Dad and then at me. "I—I—No. I—I don't…"

"Would it help if we got rid of the man?" May asks, jumping up on the bed with us. "'Cause we can. We can get rid of him, lickity-split. See, watch this. Dad, leave." He does. "He's like a dog. He'll just do whatever you say. Has anyone told you that you're adorable? You look a lot like Little Miss Skinnybones over here did when she was a kiddo."

Rose giggles. Ha. I knew she'd like May.

With the male out of the room and all eyes looking expectantly at her, she slowly pulls off her shirt, careful to avoid the now-bandaged cut on her arm. This reveals a filthy undershirt, which she also discards.

Y'know, I think I preferred seeing the dirty shirt.

The most noticeable thing is her ribs—hell, all of her bones—are poking out like those of a near-death anorexic. Hidden among the varying shadows are bruises and bumps and cuts and scrapes, some noticeably in the shape of a boot's sole or a fist. I blink away tears, just gently wrapping my arm around her shoulder and giving her a slight squeeze.

Anita grimaces, but continues. "What's with the bandage?"

"She got a pretty nasty cut," I tell her. "I didn't want it getting in worse condition than it already was."

"Would you pull it off? I want to look at it."

I take a breath before doing as she says. I wince as I see the bright red wound come into light. It's nowhere near as bad as it was, but that's not really saying much. Anita visually examines it, her eyes going squinty. Then, "That's a bullet wound."

I feel my jaw slacken and the words, "Do what?" just slip out of my mouth.

"It's infected. She's going to need antibiotics. Preferably by IV. I'd also like for her to be under hospital watch until she's in better shape."

"Don't you think that would freak her out? I mean, we just got into the city and—"

"Don't worry about getting into legal trouble. The police don't take kids away from parents that are being beaten as much as they are."

"I'm _not_ being beaten—"

"Said the woman with a black eye."

I take a second before answering, since I really don't know _how_ to answer. I look at Mom and May, with their eyes wide with sympathy, and Ani with her determined gaze. I sigh. "Look, I fell. That's it. Really. Now, you think we should take her to the hospital?"

"You're sidestepping and we're not through having this conversation, but yes. She's obviously malnourished and dehydrated, as are you, and I'd like it if both of you would spend the night under supervision."

I scoff. "I'm fine, though you're definitely right about the IV," I say, stroking Rose's hair.

May hunches over. "It sure is annoying when the adults talk about you like you're not actually there, ain't it, Rosie?"

Rose glances around the room, her eyes scanning everyone until she lands on me. I can tell by the way her lip's quivering that she doesn't know how to respond. Then she mumbles, "I don't think they're annoying…"

I snort. "You're about the only one."

"Oh, don't give yourself credit. She's just being nice—not hurting your feelings. Right, Kiddo?"

"I…I don't…" She shakes her head nervously. "Mom, can I go back to sleep?"

Sighing, I give her a kiss. "I'm sorry, but Ani thinks you need to get some better treatment for your arm. I agree with her. So we're just going to take you to the hospital for a little while, okay?"

"But…I just want to sleep for a few minutes…Just a few more?"

The look, with those heartbroken eyes, just kill me. She just wants some rest, that's all. I'm tempted to cave, give her another hour, but…No. She needs some sort of treatment. I shake my head. "I'm sorry, baby. There'll be a bed at the hospital, alright? I promise you that."

She nods and reaches to put her shirt on. I help her and then pull her up. Surprisingly, she's pretty strong on her feet, but then again, she was on the walk/ride from the park, so why should I expect different? Still…Having seen how badly she had been beaten recently, I can't help but place my hand firmly on her back to make sure I can catch her if she falls.

And so, begins the trip to New York General Hospital.

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	21. Rose: Answers

"Sweetie, you have to get up for a few minutes. Just for a few. Then you can go back to sleep."

I blink, pulling my mind away from the nightmare, and sit up, moaning a little when I feel my body ache. I shift my gaze to all around me. There's Mom, her mother, the woman I remember being faux-strangled, and another lady, similar in age to Mom, but physically resembling my grandmother. A sister? I don't know. "Um…wha?" I ask, trying to provoke Mom into explaining.

She does. "Rosie, this is your Aunt Anita. She's a doctor and she's just going to look you over, okay?"

A doctor. That's a good thing. Maybe she can make the ache go away.

Mom keeps going. "And that's your Aunt May and that's your—your—"

"Nana."

She nods, grinning, almost devious looking. "That's your Nana—my mother. My dad's in the other room. Now, Aunt Anita's not going to hurt you, alright? Just relax and do what she says."

I give consent, letting myself be, basically, played with in the name of health. Being handled and looked at…I close my eyes to fend off the mental comparisons that come up. I just can't shake the feeling of hands, larger and rougher, touching me like she's touching me, but being much less gentle.

"Go get Dad."

May scurries out and brings back in the man from before. He looks at Aunt Anita expectantly and she grabs his hands. She wraps his fingers around my neck. I bite down, grinding my teeth to avoid trying to fight his loose grip.

"Ani, what the—what're you doing?" Mom asks.

Aunt Anita pushes my grandfather away. She carefully grabs my jaw and tilts my head up. I try to relax. It doesn't really work.

"A man has tried to strangle her. Recently," Aunt Anita says, letting go. "Rose, strip."

I hesitate, looking at all of them, at my grandfather. I don't know him. I don't trust him. I turn to Mom for help. "I—I—No. I—I don't…"

"Would it help if we got rid of the man?" Aunt May asks, climbing up onto the bed, her eyes nice and warm and happy. "'Cause we can. We can get rid of him, lickity-split. See, watch this. Dad, leave," she orders. He smiles at me and just leaves the room like an obedient stable boy. "He's like a dog," she continues. "He'll just do whatever you say. Has anyone told you that you're adorable? You look a lot like Little Miss Skinnybones over here did when she was a kiddo."

I laugh. I haven't been called adorable in a long time. It was a random compliment, but it's the first one in…I can't remember when. It makes me feel special.

However, now I have to shed my clothes, revealing my less than adorable body. I take a deep breath and strip.

They all wince at my little slut self. Am I that bad? I knew I was repulsing, but I think even this is a bit extreme. But what if it isn't? I don't…I guess I am that bad.

Aunt Anita is the first to recover. "What's with the bandage?"

"She got a pretty nasty cut," Mom says, taking my hand into her own and rubbing it. "I didn't want it getting in worst condition than it already was."

"Would you pull it off? I want to look at it."

Mom sighs, moving to face the wound. I tense, preparing for the sting of it being touched. And it does. I bite my lip to keep from whimpering.

Aunt Anita comes closer and eyes it. "That's a bullet wound."

"Do what?"

Wait…Mom doesn't know? She's the one who…It'd better to just let her forget that she shot me. I have to remember that she didn't know who I was at the time. That's why she shot me. She just didn't know. Right.

"It's infected," Anita says. "She's going to need antibiotics. Preferably an IV. I'd also like for her to be under hospital watch until she's in better shape."

I swallow nervously. I've never been in a hospital or had antibiotics and what the hell is an IV? I don't think they're good things.

"Don't you think that would freak her out?" Mom asks, her voice wavering. "I mean, we just got into the city and—"

"Don't worry about getting into legal trouble. The police don't take kids away from parents that are being beaten as much as they are."

What? Why would the police even…What's she talking about?

"I'm _not_ being beaten—"

"Said the woman with a black eye."

I look at Mom, only just noticing the bruising that's happening on her face. It's red, recent…It's from when my head slammed against her. I gave her the black eye. God, I'm such a piece of crap sometimes.

"Look," Mom says. "I fell. That's it. Really. Now, you think we should take her to the hospital?"

"You're sidestepping and we're not through having this conversation, but yes," Aunt Anita continues. "She's obviously malnourished and dehydrated, as are you, and I'd like it if both of you would spend the night under supervision."

Mom snorts and begins playing with my hair. "I'm fine, though you're definitely right about the IV."

Aunt May flops over, nearly in my lap. "It sure is annoying when the adults talk about you like you're not actually there, ain't it, Rosie?"

Yes, it really is, but I'm not going to say that. I look around, hoping for an answer, before saying, "I don't think they're annoying…"

Mom laughs. "You're about the only one."

"Oh, don't give yourself credit. She's just being nice—not hurting your feelings. Right, Kiddo?"

"I…I don't…" I mumble. I don't know how to respond. I just don't. So, I change the subject. "Mom, can I go back to sleep?"

Mom kisses my forehead. "I'm sorry, but Ani thinks you need to get some better treatment for your arm. I agree with her. So we're just going to take you to the hospital for a little while, okay?"

"But…" I want some excuse, a way to get myself out of this. I could try to run, but that…that wouldn't work. So I go a different route. "I just want to sleep for a few minutes…Just a few more?"

Mom shakes her head, suddenly looking very sad. "I'm sorry, baby. There'll be a bed at the hospital, alright? I promise you that."

I nod and reach out to grab my shirt. I'm not leaving naked, after all. Mom helps me put it on and pulls me to my feet. I'm a bit dizzy for a second, but that's pretty normal. Mom gently holds onto me, hovering, almost paranoid. She leads me out of the apartment, setting off the trip to the daunting hospital.

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Please review!


	22. Nancy: Hospital

Here's the next one! I'm sorry this is getting so filler-y. I just have to get all of this out of the way before I get to the ongoing plot of the story.

I don't own.

* * *

The cab ride to the hospital was…interesting. Rose got a first hand look at how freaking nuts her extended family is when the cabbie casually brought up politics, causing all focus on my daughter to wane and the bleeding heart liberal May to nearly go psycho on the staunch fiscal conservative Ani. For a few minutes, I thought the eight-seater was going to turn into a boxing match. However, Rose looked at me, and, though obviously confused, winked. At that, she broke out into a coughing fit. Nothing rattly or scratchy, and obviously fake for anyone that saw the wink. But it worked. Politics were dropped and the attention was brought to its rightful owner.

My daughter is a con woman. A brilliant, brilliant con woman. Dear God, I love this girl.

But now we're sitting in the waiting room, things a lot more somber. It's painfully cold, or at least it is according to Rose, and that really concerns Anita. She's hovering, repeatedly checking Rose's pulse, all while muttering words I don't want to hear. Anemia. Brain aneurysm. Internal bleeding. I try to shake it off, seeing as Rose is conscious and pretty alert (if drowsy), and I know you're not that lucid if you're close to death.

Thanks to Ani's connections and how dehydrated Rose obviously is, we're pulled into the triage faster than most of the other people, leaving May, Mom, and Dad in the lobby. She has her vitals checked (again) and is immediately taken to one of the mini-rooms in the back, where only a curtain separates us and a hobo with a clear case of pneumonia. I gently stroke Rose's hair as they set her up for an IV. As they tie the rubber band around her arm tightly, she lets out a small whimper. I just kiss her forehead and tell her, "It's alright. It'll only hurt for a second."

And, judging by her slight wince, it does, but she still relaxes. "Momma…Can I go back to sleep now?"

I smile at her. "Mmmhmm…You can."

She quickly dozes off, but it is short lived, as two people, a man and a woman, step in, dressed in street wear.

The man nods at me. "You Nancy Tremaine? I'm Detective Christopher Elliot. This is my partner, Marissa Olivia. We need to have a few words with you and your daughter."

My stomach sinks. I knew that I would have to speak to police, but I wasn't expecting so soon or for them to want to talk to Rose. "Oh, yes, that's me, but—can we do this later? Rose—she isn't feeling well and I'd rather handle this when we're both in our right minds."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Tremaine, but we really need to get this over with. Separately."

"An hour. Please. They haven't even gotten her a room yet. Just give us that much."

"Ms. Tremaine—"

The woman, Marissa, steps in. "Okay, that's fine, but we really need to get some pictures of your injuries before they fade. Would you do that now? We'll get—you'll only have to be apart for a few minutes. Then we'll pull some strings, get her a private room, and then we can do her pictures—you'll be in there with her too. Will that work?"

"Can my sister stay in here with her?" I ask, feeling cornered into doing this.

"She sure can."

I nod, then turn to Rose, who is semi-awake. "Rosie, honey, I've just got to go do something really quickly, alright? Aunt Ani will stay with you while I'm gone. It should only take a few minutes."

She mumbles something in response, but I can't really make out the actual words. I chuckle. She's so out of it…She won't even know that I'm gone.

I'm lead by Marissa into an apparent designated area for police matters (which, really, doesn't surprise me; this is New York, after all). She finds a camera in one of the cabinets. "Okay, Ms. Tremaine, I just need to get a few pictures of your black eye—do you have any other injuries?"

I'm not going to lie to a cop. "I have a few bruises—but, just for the record, I _fell_. That's it. There's really no need for this fuss."

"We just have to do this—"

"Does it really look that bad? I mean, so I'm a little banged up and a bit too skinny. Why does that entail an entire investigation?"

"We're just trying to make sure that you or your daughter aren't in any danger and try to keep you or her from getting into danger. Plus, you've got to admit, it looks odd. A woman reappears after fourteen years of being missing with a daughter in tow, both of which are battered and starved, and this is the first time the family, a family known to be tightly knit, has heard from her other than an ambiguous note?" she says as she snaps away.

"When you do this, can you be easy on Rose? She's hurt and scared and confused. I don't want to stress her out anymore than she already is."

"Don't worry. You'll be there to call the shots." She steps back. "Would you mind taking off your clothes? I'm sorry, but I need pictures for documentation."

I sigh and do as she says, despite the fact that I really, really, really don't want to. This really isn't helping my 'I fell' angle, because the more I look at the bruises and their shapes, I would've had to have taken one hell of a fall to end up with that scrape on the inside of my _thigh_ (did I get it on the horse? I have no idea). This probably isn't going to hold up in court. And what about Rose? She's is such bad condition that—what the hell am I going to say about that without incriminating myself or my husband or revealing the truth about Andalasia? God, I can't loose custody. If it comes to that, I'll blame someone, call myself a battered woman. I'll become a victim if it means keeping my daughter. I'll—

"Ms. Tremaine?"

I jolt, turning to Marissa. "Oh, yeah?"

"Are you alright? You're trembling."

I look at my hand and, sure enough, it's shaking. I fist it and take a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah…I'm fine. Are you, um, done now?"

She smiles. "Yes. You can get dressed and go back. I'll meet you there."

I nod happily, pulling on my shirt and sweatpants, and dash out the door. I make my way back to the mini-rooms without getting lost. However, the spot where Rose was is empty, no Rose or Anita or even the bed in sight.

Where the hell is my kid?

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Please review!


	23. Rose: Hospital

Sorry this took so long; I'm doing National Novel Writing Month and it's taking up most of my writing time.

I don't own.

* * *

We get back in a one of those horseless carriages, one with a different driver. It makes me sleepy, but then Aunt May and Aunt Anita start bickering and yelling at each other, almost to the point of brawling. I look at Mom, hoping for an explanation, but I get none. I don't think it's really that big of a deal, because Mom nor Nana nor my grandpa respond to it. One of them will weakly try to get the two to stop, but it doesn't really work. However, I've noticed that they pay pretty close attention to me, everyone right now seems to, so I give Mom a wink, letting her know that everything's okay, and let out a wicked coughing spell.

Whatever they were arguing about is long forgotten and they start coddling me. I'm glad that worked.

The rest of the ride is uneventful and I find that my formerly feigned sleepiness is becoming very real, my body aching as I grow more tired. Soon, we stop, and my diligent family ushers me into this large, sterile smelling building. There's a few others here, most of them looking around with pitiful glances. Me and Mom sit down and I lean against her, curling my legs up as I do. For some reason, it's a lot colder in here than it was in the carriage. When I mention this, Anita starts buzzing around me and telling Mom words that, for the most part, I don't understand (though I do pick up on 'bleeding'; I didn't want to hear that).

For some reason, we're called back before most of the other people. We're led to a small room where they check my vitals, this time a lot rougher than how Aunt Anita did before. The doctor or nurse or whoever the hell it is takes us back into a large room with several mini-rooms, all separated with a thin sheet. I lie down on the bed—it's no where near as comfortable as Mom's. One of the nurses, a woman, silently comes as ties a rubber band around my forearm to tightly. Mom kisses me and says, "It's alright. It'll only hurt for a second."

I close my eyes and jump when there's a small prick in hand. I look and see that the needle is now taped to stay put and that it leads to a tube which is connected to a bag full of clear liquid. Huh. That's weird. I relax and ask, "Momma, can I go back to sleep now?"

"Mmmhmm…You can."

Thank God.

"…With you and your daughter."

Suddenly, I guess due to me dozing off, there's two more people in the room, a man and a woman. I can tell by the way Mom is eying them that she doesn't like them. "Oh, yes, that's me, but—can we do this later? Rose—she isn't feeling well and I'd rather handle this when we're both in our right minds."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Tremaine, but we really need to get this over with. Separately," the man says.

"An hour. Please. They haven't even gotten her a room yet. Just give us that much."

"Ms. Tremaine—"

"Okay," says the woman. "That's fine, but we really need to get some pictures of your injuries before they fade. Would you do that now? We'll get—you'll only have to be apart for a few minutes. Then we'll pull some strings, get her a private room, and then we can do her pictures—you'll be in there with her too. Will that work?"

"Can my sister stay in here with her?" Mom asks, sounding desperate.

"She sure can."

Mom strokes my face. "Rosie, honey, I've just got to go do something really quickly, alright? Aunt Ani will stay with you while I'm gone. It should only take a few minutes."

"Okay," I tell her, but it's hard when everything feels as heavy as it does now.

In a blink, I feel myself being gently shaken. I look around; Aunt Anita, Aunt May, and some woman I don't know are standing around me, watching as Nana wakes me up. Mom's still gone. Nana smiles. "The doctor's here."

I nod and shift myself into more of a sitting position. The doctor, a warm blond lady, eases down at the foot of my bed. She pats my knee. "What seems to be the problem?"

"She's starved and dehydrated," Anita says. "There's also several contusions and possibly worse—"

"Okay, that's written down already." She turns to me. "But I asked _her_. What seems to be the problem."

Seeing Aunt Anita pout at that is pretty funny. But that pulls me to the actually question. "Um…well…I'm really tired and sore, but that…I'm usually pretty sore. It's not even that noticeable anymore. Er…I guess that's it."

"Is the soreness in any one area? Is it all over?"

I shrug. "In my belly, maybe? It's pretty much all over?"

She nods. "Okay, would you take off your clothes—here, close the curtain, yeah—okay, no one but us can see."

A nervous tingle grows in me, but I strip none the less. The doctor has me lean back and relax as she pushes on my shoulders, chest, and belly. However, as she rubs near my hip, the pressure sends a stinging pain all throughout my body. I wince, sucking in a breath. The doctor stops immediately. Her eyebrows furrow and she says, "I think I'm going to order an ultrasound just to see what's going on. My shift is going to end in about ten minutes, but I'll have Dr. Carlton come in and handle everything from there, alright?"

I nod, pulling the blanket up to cover me. Aunt May takes my lead and helps me back into the gown as the doctor leaves. Soon, a nurse comes in and moves the bed(!) with me in it. I'm relocated to a room where it's only me, which makes me happy. It's also a lot quieter, which doesn't help with the sleepiness. I look at Nana. "Can I go back to sleep?"

She smiles, brushing my hair behind my ear. "Of course you can, sweetheart."

So I do.

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	24. Nancy: Guilt

I don't own.

* * *

Of course, I panic for a second, my breath rate going up. Then a grouchy-looking old nurse glares at me and blurts, "They took her to room 213."

I nod, muttering thanks. 213 213 213. Got it.

I haul ass up the stairs and nearly run to the thirteenth room. In there, Rose is snoozing away, several more tubes and monitors hooked to her (which sends a chill down my spine—it's the creepiest thing to see my baby all wired up like that), Anita, May, Mom, Dad, and my brother, Tony (when did he get here?) softly chitchatting. Tony brightens when he sees me. He comes over and wraps me in one of his tight little brother who's-actually-quite-a-bit-bigger-than-me hugs. The kind where I end up with my feet hovering above the floor. "I missed you, Sissy," he says.

"Missed you too…" I mumble back, but pull away to move over to Rose's bedside, sitting in the chair that Anita moved from.

Mom smiles sympathetically. "How'd it go?"

"They just took pictures. The woman is probably on her way to do the same with Rose." I sigh. "I really wish you guys wouldn't've made such a big deal about it in the first place—"

Tony snorts. "And you expect us to take that crap you spoon fed us? Nope. Sorry. It doesn't work like that."

"Seconded!" May quietly cheers.

I shake my head, feeling my nerves catch up with me. "Well, thanks guys. Now I'm going to have to figure out what the hell I'm going to say to get out of this," I snap, my voice crackling. I wipe at my eyes roughly. Dammit. I'm not going to fucking break down.

My mother comes over and lightly massages the base of my neck. She simply tells me, "It's going to all work out."

"I…" I take a deep breath. "I hope so."

There's a knock on the open door and then Detective Olivia steps in, holding the camera. "Ms. Tremaine? I'm here to do Rose's pictures."

I nod and turn to my family. "Could you guys step out for a minute?"

Everyone nods or mumbles a 'yes'. After they pour out, Marissa closes the door. I lightly nudge Rose. "Rosie-Roo, you've gotta get up for a few minutes."

She slowly opens an eye at me. She lets out a puff of air. "I'm never going to get some sleep, am I?"

I bite my lip. "I'm sorry, baby, but we've got to do it. It shouldn't be too much longer and then you'll be left alone, I promise." I kiss her forehead. "Listen, everything's okay, just go with it, alright? I'll explain everything later."

She nods and eyes Marissa. "Who's she? Do I have another aunt?"

I chuckle. "No—well, yes, you do, Sarah, Maria, and Rebekah—but this—this is Detective Olivia. She's going to be taking pictures of you, okay?"

She shrugs and Olivia comes forward, saying she's just going to start with Rose's face. She takes the first snap, the flash bright and white, and Rose flinches.

Then I realize: Rose has no freaking idea what a camera is.

I can't really explain to her what's going on without it making the case look even weirder than it already is, but I can squeeze her hand and mouth, 'It's okay'.

She does wonderfully during the entire ordeal. She hardly reacts anymore to the constant flashing and remains silent. She does what Marissa tells her to (though she doesn't really respond to any of Marissa's smalltalk), stripping when she's supposed to, et cetera. However, Rose keeps a continuing grip on my hand whenever she can, a grip that grows tighter every time she's touched. It makes me nervous.

But, as quickly as it was over for me, it's over for her. I can tell just by the way her eyelids droop that she is relaxed by being done. She cracks a small smile at me and asks, "Sleep?"

I take a quick breath. "Detective Olivia, can we please hold back on the questions? She's exhausted; you're probably not going to get very good answers from her anyway."

Marissa takes a breath, flipping her camera off. "You have a point; I think my boss will understand. I'll come by tomorrow about noon—does that sound good?"

"That's fine."

After Marissa leaves, Rose asks me, "Momma? What's going on?"

I can't properly answer yet because my family in coming back in, so I just tell her, "It's a long story, but don't worry. I'm taking care of it. You just get some rest."

I don't have to tell her twice. She dozes within seconds.

I kiss her forehead and actually let myself enjoy having my daughter back. But, of course, May has to ruin the tender moment by uttering, "Well, who'd'a thought it? Nancy's a good mother."

A bitter chuckle escapes my mouth. "Not really…You can tell that by looking at her."

My mother gets that Oh-Dear look that she used to give me when I was a teen—where her eyes are full of pity and her inner therapist comes out. "Nancy…" she mumbles. "It wasn't your fault—"

"_How would you know that_?" I harshly whisper, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "You don't know the full story."

"You could tell me."

Then I feel a massive guilt wash over me, sinking deep into my bones. It's a guilt for abandoning my family. A guilt for dragging Rose into this mess. A guilt for letting it get to this point in the first place. If I had only made myself come back occasionally, instead of shutting myself in Andalasia, they would've been confused, but okay. If I had only searched a little bit harder for Rose, maybe we wouldn't be at war and my daughter wouldn't be in such horrible shape. Hell, this whole thing could've been prevented had I just seen what that bastard was doing to my precious girl. God…Why am I such a fuck up?

"Nancy?" May asks, her voice oddly soft compared to her usually brash self.

I blink back the tears that had grown and take a deep breath. Okay, now I've got to put on my big-girl panties and deal with the consequences of my mistakes. The 'what ifs' are not going to help me now. "I'm fine," I tell her, trying to make my voice sound confidant, hoping it might make me more confidant in return. "Really, I am."

Fortunately, my body has a sense of comedic relief because, all of the sudden, my stomach decides to mimic the mating call of the blue whale. This elicits snorts and giggles from my entire crew. Anita, however, only breaks out in a small smirk. "When's the last time you ate?"

I lean back and think. The last thing I remember was nibbling on some bread on the ride back to the castle, but it really was only tidbits—I wasn't hungry at all—and before that…Honestly, my last full meal was a couple of days ago. I shrug. "I dunno. It's been a…um…wild last few days."

May grabs me by the shirt and starts dragging me out of the room. "You guys watch the tot. I'm going to feed her before we hear an encore of 'The Songs Of Nancy's Digestion'."

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Please review!


	25. Rose: Guilt

Hey! Sorry this chapter took so long! I came down with a sinus infection (damn those allergies!). But here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it!

I don't own.

* * *

I'm surrounded by complete darkness. It's threatening but at the same time comforting. I want for it to continue, in a way. Eternal nothingness. It would be so nice to just stay here and not face the real world and all of it's horrors. I wonder if this is what death is like, just this nothing. If it is, I might commit suicide just to let it happen. I could live like this.

"Hello, Princess."

Fuck.

I look all around in the blackness until I see Mica walking toward me with his huge, lumbering body. He has a club in his hand and a gun holstered to his belt. He's giving me that smirk and I know that I'm soon going to really want to die.

He doesn't waste any time going straight for me, his club swinging. He lands a blow on my chest, a pain that radiates over my whole torso and causes my heart to go weak. I tumble to the ground. He pulls out his gun and aims it at my temple. Terror floods my systems. Is this really it? Is this how it's going to end? I squeeze my eyes tight and the gun goes off, loud and proud. In a second, it feels like my head just explodes—it might have—and I'm just in pure agony. I start to cry out to no one, just to stop it from killing me.

"Rosie-Roo, you've gotta get up for a few minutes."

I'm slowly dragged away from Mica and the blackness and the pain and brought back to the hospital room. It's clean and white and my mom's back (good) and I'm still sore but that's okay. I then register the fact that I haven't slept decently since I got here. The nightmares are becoming more vivid and scary. I take a breath and mutter, "I'm never going to get some sleep, am I?"

Mom looks nervous and I realize she probably doesn't understand what I'm talking about. I don't want for her to. The less she knows, the better. "I'm sorry, baby," she says. I feel like telling her she shouldn't apologize for anything because she's amazing; I'm the fuck-up in this situation. "But we've got to do it. It shouldn't be too much longer and then you'll be left alone, I promise." She gives me a kiss, near the spot where Mica shot me in my dream. Even though I know it wasn't intentional on her part, it still is comforting to have that reassurance that there's not really a bullet hole there. "Listen," she says, stepping back. "Everything's okay. Just go with it, alright? I'll explain everything later."

I nod and then notice an attractive woman Mom's age standing by. It's the same woman as before. She's holding this black contraption that I don't know the purpose of. It makes me edgy. What if it's a weapon? "Who's she?" I ask. "Do I have another aunt?" Is she friend or is she foe?

Mom chuckles, which relaxes me. Mom wouldn't be chuckling if this woman was out to hurt either one of us. "No—well, yes, you do, Sarah, Maria, and Rebekah—but this—this is Detective Olivia. She's going to be taking pictures of you, okay?"

I shrug. I don't understand what's going on, but if Mom's okay with it, I'm okay with it. Detective Olivia says she's going to start with my face. Start what? How is she going to 'take' a picture? I don't have any pictures with me, let alone of my face. She leans down, brushes my hair back a little, and holds up her black thing. A bright light comes off of it, almost like how a gun does when it fires off, and I flinch, expecting injury. However, I'm not injured. That was really weird.

I feel my mom squeeze my hand. I look up and see her mouth, 'It's okay'.

If you say so, Mom.

The next thirty minutes or so is filled with constant picture taking of every inch of my body, which, to be honest, feels incredibly invasive. I suck it up, though. I've got to. But I still can't not react to Detective Olivia touching me—it's just second nature to tense up. A primal reaction. Is that all I am now, some animal? Relying on instincts and reflexes in order to survive?

Eventually, she's done, standing back. I ease back in the bed, feeling safer once again. The little episode has left me tired once again. I look over at Mom—she's a borderline wreck, so I smile to try to calm her. I ask, "Sleep?"

I hear Mom whine just ever so quietly. "Detective Olivia," she asks, sounding tense. "Can we please hold back on the questions?" What questions? Why can't we go ahead and do them now, get them out of the way? "She's exhausted; you're probably not going to get very good answers from her anyway." I sort of want to protest just to let Mom know that I'm fine, but I'll let her make all of the calls.

Detective Olivia says, "You have a point; I think my boss will understand. I'll come by tomorrow about noon—does that sound good?"

"That's fine," Mom says. Am I still going to be in here at noon tomorrow? I would really like to go back to Mom's place; the bed was a lot more comfortable and it was quieter.

Detective Olivia leaves, thank God, giving me a chance to ask, "Momma? What's going on?" God, my voice sounds so weak and pathetic. I need to get it together, even if only for Mom's sanity.

The family starts pouring back into the room, including another new face, a man, this time. Mom pats my hand with hers. "It's a long story, but don't worry. I'm taking care of it. You just get some rest."

I nod a little and relax. Why am I so tired as of late? It was never this bad. Granted, I'm sick and injured, but I've been sick and injured before. It was never like this. However, that's another worry for another day. Mom won't let anything happen to me, so I'm safe. I can sleep and, hopefully, I won't have any dreams.

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Please review!


	26. Nancy: Talk

I don't own.

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Half way down the hall, I stop, my eyes widening. "Crap," I mutter.

May's thrown on high alert, bouncing around me. "What? What is it? Is everything okay? Is everything—"

"The pizza," I say. "Mom called in a pizza and now the guy's going to be standing there, holding a pizza."

She glares, but then shrugs it off as we start walking again. "I don't really think that that's what you should be worrying about right now, even if it probably is the easiest thing to handle."

I eye her, pursing my lips. "When did you turn into Mom, eh? Psychobabble much?"

Growling, she lightly shoves me, but accidentally hits one of my bruises. When I wince, her gaze falls. "What happened to you?" she asks, sounding desperate.

"Honestly," I say. "I wish I knew myself."

"Okay, then. Give me the facts. As many facts as you can. We'll piece it together."

"May," I tell her, trying to not sound angry, because I'm not—or, at least, not at her. "I can't do that." My voice gives an unintentional squeak on 'can't', prompting May gently wrap her arm around my back. I try to move away—I'm not the one to feel bad for in this situation; that's all Rose. "I'm fine. I swear. I'm fine."

"You don't seem very fine to me." Her voice lowers even more, "Nance, did he hit you? Your husband, I mean."

I can't help but snort at the thought of Edward, who can't even kill a fucking cockroach, hitting me. "God, no! He's too sweet for that—"

"Is that why he wouldn't let you come home?"

"He didn't stop me—"

"Then what took so long, Nancy? If you're telling me the truth, then you're a lot crappier of a person than I thought. You just going 'poof!' didn't do anything good for our parents, or me, or Ani…you get the point."

I take a deep breath to keep from shaking. "I…I know I'm a terrible, terrible person, alright? I've realized that. Ed…he just made me make a choice. I could stay with him or I could come back here. By the time I realized I wanted to come back, I was pregnant with Rose and—May, I wasn't going to take her away from him because I fucked up. I ended up getting stuck with him, okay? I made a mistake and this was the consequences."

May raises her eyebrows. "So he basically held you against your will?"

"No! He. Was. Not. Abusive. Alright?"

"But if you were so against the situation as to call it a mistake—"

"You know what? Yeah, it was a mistake, but it was a damn good one. Even if I didn't love him—_which I do_—he gave me my Rosie, and, you know what, he has no faults in my eyes because of that."

I move to stride past May to the cafeteria, but she jumps in front of me. She's biting her lip. "Okay. That's okay. Just…one more question and I'll leave you alone, for a while…was _everything_ consensual? Nance, I mean everything over the last fourteen years."

I nod. "Yes. He never even touched me without permission."

"Good. Otherwise I'd have to rip his dick off."

It's supposed to be a joke. It's supposed to be funny. It's supposed to move us back into that snarky rhythm of ours. But…all it does is reminds me of Damian and how much I want to torture him.

I feel May stroke the top of my arm. She gives me a small smile. "You can tell me over dinner, okay?"

I nod and we continue silently into the cafeteria. Of course, since it's my first day back in America, I grab some all-American food, AKA the crappiest junk food known to man. However, it's some of the best tasting stuff I've had in a long time. It's when we're sitting down and I'm enjoying my Coke that May asks, "So…you want to talk about whatever it is bothering you or do you just want to eat?"

I sigh, picking at my Doritos. "Rose…she…she was apparently molested when she was little and—"

"Who?" May asks, her voice quick and stern. "Who's the bastard?"

"It was a colleague of my husband. He had a son that was close in age and…I let him babysit her."

"Nancy—"

"I swear, I didn't know! I didn't. If I would've, I would've grabbed her, brought her here, and never looked back, but…I didn't find out until last year. She…I don't even know anymore."

She grabs my hand and starts rubbing circles in my palm. I watch her, not wanting to make eye contact with her. "How's she handling it?"

A headache grows in my temple. "I don't know. I…three years ago, she went missing. I only just got her back a few days ago."

Her eyebrows scrunch in concern and her jaw tenses. "And you weren't allowed to report it."

I shake my head. "No…it wouldn't've been…I…"

"Your husband didn't let you report it."

"No. Can we just drop that part of it? He is _not_ like that."

"It doesn't sound like it, but okay. For now. We're not done."

"Of course we're not—"

"So where'd she go? I mean, she can't be, what, eleven?"

I shake my head, thinking about how painfully small Rose is. "She's thirteen. Her birthday…God, her birthday was…what's today?"

"May eleventh."

"It was three days ago. She turned thirteen on the eighth."

Then she brightens. "We should throw her a party. Not a big one—that'd startle her—she already looks incredibly nervous as it is. She's pretty freaked out by hospitals, isn't she?"

How May breached from parties to hospital anxiety, I don't know, but I just sigh and tell her, "This is her first time in one."

Her head tilts, vaguely dogish, and she asks, "How bad was it? Her missing, I mean."

"For me or for her?" I finish my bag of chips.

"Both."

I lean back and look at my lap, unable to shake a growing unease at having to think about times that are best left forgotten. "It was the worst experience I've ever been through. Just…it was like an ache, just this overwhelming ache the entire time. There were so many times that I nearly chucked myself off the balcony…it was terrible. But throughout the entire time, there was this little bit of hope that just kept me hanging on…I'd just grab onto the smallest sign of her and use it to boost my belief that she was coming back. And now she did. And I'm completely clueless on how to handle it."

"Okay, what about her? Do you have an idea what happened?"

I nibble on the sandwich I bought. "No, I don't, not really. She liked to run off and explore when she was that age—I didn't think anything of it until she didn't turn up that night. After that…there'd be hints of her somewhere, sometimes. Someone would say they saw a short young woman in a store or—or some shit like that. That was it. And then she just turns up on her birthday, battered, beaten, starved, and scared. That infection in her arm made it where she was loopy for most of the ride back…I really haven't had a chance to talk to her about anything yet."

"So it very well could've been a kidnapping?"

"Yeah…probably…can we change the subject? Just for a few minutes. I need a break." I take another bite. "Is there anything I missed? Like, major stuff?"

"Well, Tony and Ang finally adopted a baby—a sweet little boy named Timothy. Ani—oh, she'll have to show you the pictures of her two—"

"Ani had kids?!"

"A girl and a boy. Rosario and Davie."

"So we now have two Rosarios and a Rose. This can only go so well."

"Maria's preggers. Becka adopted. Abe got married. Again. And got his hoard of boys that he wanted to add on to his shit load of kids, for which he still struggles to pay child support on. Um…Adam came out, but that wasn't really all that climactic, seeing as Ani was the only one who didn't know, _anyway_…yeah. That's been our family life in a nutshell for the last fourteen years. We've just got babies, babies, and more babies."

"Sunday dinners are a lot more chaotic, aren't they?"

"It really depends on if Abe shows up and which kids he has with him, who's in town doing what, all that jazz. Anyway…the store is doing pretty well—I mean, it's never as well without you—you're the show runner of that damn thing, after all—but we're still standing. Should I expect you to come back?"

Damn. I completely forgot about my business. "I don't know. I want to, since I'm here, but it'll really depend on how Rose is. I'm not going to just leave her at home when she's in a completely new surrounding." I ball up my empty wrapper and bag, ready to toss them in the nearby garbage can. "Are you ready?" I ask, even though I know she is because all she got was a candy bar.

She nods, throws out the trash, and we head back up to the elevator with her shooting me weird glances the whole time.


	27. Nancy: Wait

I don't own!

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I get back in the room and feel a clench of worry when I see several more monitors and such hooked up to Rose. Several IVs, the nasal cannula, the whole enchil—is that a blood transfusion? I rush over, feeling myself start to tremble. "What's going on?"

Anita jumps in. "She's starting to show signs of going into shock. They're just erring on the side of caution and treating her for it."

Rose stirs, her eyes slowly cracking open. "Hi," she mumbles.

I give her a smile, a sign of comfort, a way to show her that everything's okay. "Hi, baby. How're you feeling?"

"Meh," she says. "I've been a lot worse."

A simple comment like that throws me back into the question: what has happened to her? However, I can't ponder that now. I have an ailing daughter to tend to. But I don't even know where to start. I just…I don't really know. So I sit down in the chair, take her hand as gently as I can, and try to be a symbol of normality for her, even though I haven't been in her sense of normal for years now. Without looking at anyone, I ask, "What else did the doctor say?"

Of course, it's Ani that speaks up. "He basically rehashed what I already said. Starved, dehydrated, infected. However, he thinks there might some internal injury that is causing the shock. For now, we're just going to watch and wait. He hopes that whatever injury it is, it'll heal on its own, without intervention. Worst case scenario is she'll need surgery. He's ordered some tests and such."

I try not to look terrified at the thought of her going under the knife. I don't think it works very well, but I tried. I lightly squeeze her hand. "So she's going to be a-okay, right?" I say for Rose's benefit as well as my own.

"Right. She'll probably be out of here within a week or two."

I nod, hopeful, the sound of being able to get Rose settled in so sweet. I can imagine getting her that nice room with a big plush bed, big-ass TV, and way too many pillows. I can't help but feel unabashedly excited to show her everything New York has to offer. It's going to be amazing.

"Am I interrupting anything?" asks a nurse, wheeling in an ultrasound machine. He pulls it up and has me undo the front buttons on Rose's hospital gown, giving him full access to her bare stomach (which, of course, makes my dad and brother feel uncomfortable, causing them to leave the room promptly). He grabs the gel, squirts some onto her, and gets to work.

Rose looks up at me and mumbles, "This stuff feels weird and hot..."

I chuckle. "I know. I've had to have this done. You're lucky it's warm. It used to be freezing. Liquid ice."

May snorts. "Liquid ice? Nance, we have a word for that: _water_."

"Shut up."

Mom, of course, rolls her eyes. "Now, now, children. Do we need to put you two in time out?"

Rose smiles which makes me smile too. But I can't let May see that, so I just stick out my tongue at her.

"Okay!" the nurse chirps. "We're all done. I'll just send these to the doctor and he'll see them immediately."

However, as he leaves, the apparent doctor comes in. He's looking somber, but I just chock it up to him being a somber person in general. He steps forward, shaking my hand. "Ms. Tremaine? I'm Dr. Carlton."

"Hi," I say, standing to greet him.

He looks at my family, at Rose, nervously. "May I speak to you outside?

God, that's not a good sign. I nod and follow him out into the hallway. The Tremaine men look at me with questionable glances, but remain out of earshot. Carlton pulls me over into the corner of the hall, having me sit in one of the itchy chairs. He sits in one too. "Ms. Tremaine," he says, his voice calm. "We did blood tests—"

"Is she going to be okay?" I ask, my voice going squeaky. "She'll make it out of this, right? Right?"

He strokes my arm. "Yes. Unless she suddenly takes a turn for the worst, she should come out with few physical problems. However, the blood work has shown us that she's about two months pregnant."

In that moment, the white walls feel suffocating, drowning me in their ironic purity. I'm nauseous and dizzy and terrified. I lean down, resting my forehead on my knees. He rubs my back, like I was some widow or something.

I jerk up. I _cannot_ be upset about this. Rose is fine. She's alive and she's going to be alright. Yes, this is terrible. Fucking terrible. It was probably rape—I realize that. But I can't be the one to need taking care of. I have to be the one caring. So, I turn to the doctor and ask, "What's going to happen now?"

He seems startled by my change in mood, but still says, "We'll keep treating her for shock until we figure out what's actually causing it. After we get that cleared up, we'll figure out what you and her want to do regarding the baby—if that's an option. There is a good chance of it miscarrying before we get there, especially if surgery is needed. Then we'll probably hand her off to a couple of specialists and you can continue care at home. Does that sound like a plan?"

"That sounds like a plan."

"Now, I don't know exactly how you want to break the news to her…that's your choice. You know her and how she'll react. If you don't want to tell her for a while, you don't have to."

I shake my head, standing. "I—I don't think that's a good idea. She's had no control over her life for too long. She deserves to know what's going on."

He pushes himself up. "Alright. Makes sense. I'm just going to go and check on the ultrasound. I'll be back in in a few minutes."

As he strides off, I slowly walk back into the room. My dad and brother eye me, but I hold up a hand, mouthing '_Stay there_'. When I'm in the room, the rest of them jump, looking at me expectantly. I smile weakly, just to tell them it's nothing fatal. "Um…" I say. "Would you guys give me a few minutes alone? I need to talk to her." They respect my wishes, padding out. I catch May, pull her close, and whisper to her, "She's pregnant."

May nods, her face frozen, and leaves. I close the door behind them. Rose is alert—at least, more alert than she was an hour ago. Those IVs are magic, apparently. But her brows are scrunched. "Momma?" she asks.

I plop down in the chair, taking her hand. "Yes, baby?"

"Am I gonna die?" she asks, her voice cracking.

I stare into those eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, currently so filled with fear. I just want to make them sparkle again. I squeeze her fingers a little. "No. You're going to be fine. The doctor literally just told me that."

"Then why did you send them out?" she asks. "You have bad news, don't you?"

I sigh. "Honestly, yeah…it's not really all that good. The, um, they did some tests and…Rosie, darling, you're with—"

"No," she mutters. "No. No. I can't…no…I—I was—I'm too skinny—I haven't—Momma, that has to be wrong. I haven't had—it's been over a year since—monthly—you have to have those to have a—Mom, I can't have a baby. I physically can't."

"Rosie…shh…Darling, it's alright. We'll handle it. We have a bunch of options here—no one will blame you for any of them. You can end the pregnancy, you can put it up for adoption—if you want to keep it, we can set up a nursery and—I'll help you. It won't be easy, but we can get this to work. I promise you. It will work out."

She lets out a long breath, pulling away from me. She reaches up and grabs a chunk of her hair, softly tugging. Her eyes squeeze closed tightly. I stay silent, not knowing what to say or what to do. There's no For Dummies guide for situations like this.

There's a knock on the door. I snap around to see Dr. Carlton stepping in. He lightly waves me over, but when I stand I hear a weak, "Momma?"

I stroke her arm. "Baby, I've just got to talk to the doctor, alright? I'll be right back."

I'm taken back into the hallway, once again earning weird looks from my family. He wastes no time telling me, "The ultrasound scans came back. It turns out to be an ectopic pregnancy; it's starting to rupture which is what's causing the internal bleeding."

"So, what's going to happen? Meds? Surgery?" I ask, starting to feel jittery. Internal bleeding are two very scary words.

"Yes, we'll have to take out the embryo and fix whatever damage is there. We're going to need to do it as soon as possible."

"And it will end the—you know—"

"Yes, it will end the pregnancy. Honestly, this is probably the best situation, all things considered. It's an easier operation for her, there won't be as much lasting effects, she'll heal a lot faster, and she won't have to deal with the added stress of having a baby."

I lean back against the wall and stare at the ceiling. "When are you going to do the surgery?"

"Within the hour. I'll send a nurse in there to prep her."

I straighten up. "I'll…I'm just going to go back in there with her." He nods and leaves, heading to the nurses' station. I tuck back in the room, regaining my spot next to Rose.

She raises her eyebrows. "What's happening?" Her voice is so damn small.

"It…what I said earlier…it was a sort of miscall," I admit, choosing my words as carefully as I can. I don't want to freak her out even more than she already is.

"I'm not…?" she asks, starting to sound hopeful, even if it's only slightly.

"Not really—well, technically, yes, but it didn't attach right at the beginning so…there would've been no way it would've held out."

She looks away, her jaw tense. "It was doomed from the start?"

"That…that's about it, yeah."

"What's going to happen now?"

I let out a little sniff. "They're just going to…I…I guess a good way to say it is that they're going to clean everything out and stitch together any cuts to stop the bleeding."

She winces, her nose scrunching up. "That sounds painful."

I shrug. "They'll knock—they'll give you something to make you sleep. It'll be tender, that's a definite, but you won't be awake for the worst part of it. After that, they'll give you some nice, big painkillers. You'll be in la-la land."

She bites her lip, then says, "La-la land…that sounds pretty nice right now."

I decide to ignore the implication of recreational drug idealization and smirk at her. "Yep, then you'll get to come home and you can just sit around and sleep and eat."

"I'd like that."

Then she flashes me a small smile. Maybe everything will be alright. Maybe this will be the last of it.

* * *

Please review!


	28. Rose: Wait

Sorry this took so long! Life kind of got in the way of my writing life!

I don't own.

* * *

"What's going on?"

Mom's voice, clear, strong, and loud, ring through my ears, waking me from another nightmare.

"She's starting to show signs of going into shock," Aunt Anita says. "They're just erring on the side of caution and treating her for it"

I force my sluggish eyelids up, living myself a view of my huge extended family. They're all watching me. I look up at Mom. "Hi."

She grins and gives my covered foot a slight squeeze. "Hi, baby. How're you feeling?" she asks.

I focus on my body; it's achy, but what else is new? I shrug, weakly. "Meh. I've been a lot worse."

She sits, looking grim. "What else did the doctor say?"

Aunt Anita replies, "He basically rehashed what I already said. Starved, dehydrated, infected. However, he thinks there might be some internal injury that is causing the shock. For now, we're just going to watch and wait. He hopes that whatever injury it is, it'll heal on its own, without intervention. Worst case scenario is she'll need surgery. He's ordered some tests and such."

She puts slight pressure on my hand and asks, brokenly, "So she's going to be a-okay, right?"

Her voice weighs on me like a mountain, a large parasite latched on to my mind, causing guilt. I've messed her up—I really have.

"Right. She'll probably be out of here within a week or two."

Thank God! I don't like this place; it smells of death.

A man in a brightly colored shirt comes in pushing some sort of contraption. He pushes it up to the bed and asks my mom to undo my shirt. I take a (unintentionally shaky) breath. Quite frankly, I want as much cover as I possibly can. Mom unbuttons the lower part of my gown, revealing my belly. He then grabs a little bottle and squirts its contents on my stomach. It's hot—too hot for my liking. It's almost like heated gelatin.

"This stuff feels weird and hot…" I say, feeling my nerves kick back in.

"I know," Mom says. "I've had to have this done. You're lucky it's warm. It used to be freezing. Liquid ice."

May does this weird snort chuckle thing that Mom does occasionally. "Liquid ice? Nance, we have a word for that: _water_."

"Shut up," Mom barks. Most of the time, she would be scary when saying those words, but there's nothing malicious about her tone at all.

Nana steps in. "Now, now, children. Do we need to put you two in time out?" She sounds more than used to this. Poor woman. Something tells me that Mom wasn't an easy child.

Mom sticks her tongue out, acting even more childish. It's amusing to see her so…unqueenly.

"Okay!" the man says, sounding far too happy to be rubbing gel on a child's stomach. "We're all done. I'll just send these to the doctor and he'll see them immediately."

He leaves, thankfully, but another man comes in. He looks grouchy. I don't like grouchy men. He shakes Mom's hand. "Ms. Tremaine? I'm Dr. Carlton."

Mom stands, making me feel small. "Hi," she says.

He looks around, seemingly frightened. "May I speak to you outside?"

My stomach lurches as I watch Mom leave. What's wrong? Something is wrong. It must be. I'm pretty sure I'm going to die. I can feel it in my blood, in my bones. Something is majorly wrong with me and it's something they can't fix. I pull my legs up to my chest, wincing as my body aches. Nana sits in Mom's seat. "You're okay, honey," she says, her voice so warm. "Whatever happens, they can fix it. They have some very good and talented doctors here."

I nod, unconvinced. There are some things that no one can fix.

It's a few moments before Mom comes back in, looking unhinged. Fuck. I'm ruining the woman. I feel tears spike at my eyes, though I try to fight them. "Um…" Mom mumbles. "Would you guys give me a few minutes alone?" she asks, causing my insides to fall even more. "I need to talk to her."

Everyone nods and leaves, but Mom pulls May really close and whispers something to her. May's eyes go wide, almost freakishly buggish, and she exits.

Mom closes the door. I shift upwards, nervous energy flowing within me. "Momma?" I ask. My voice shakes, something I didn't want to happen.

She sits down and grabs my hand. I crave the contact. "Yes, baby?"

I take a breath. "Am I gonna die?" I ask, honestly. My voice cracks loudly, my throat tight. Again, something I didn't want to happen. I need to be a lot stronger right now.

She sets her face tighter. "No. You're going to be fine. The doctor literally just told me that."

"Then why did you send them out?" I ask, desperation climbing out of me. "You have bad news, don't you?"

She nods. "Honestly, yeah…it's not really all that good. The, um, they did some tests and…Rosie, darling, you're with—"

…child.

The walls begin to cave and my stomach jerks, nauseating me. Suddenly, it's hot and my lips are moving, but I can't—I don't understand what I'm saying. I have no control over myself—someone else—another part of me—does. The world goes fuzzy and dark, like it does when one of the men come to me at night. But I can't let myself back out like that. I'm not a coward. And I can't let my body be controlled by emotions only. I need myself right now—just me. I force myself back to the front line, gathering my feelings, wrapping them up, and tucking them away in some deep, unreachable place, hopefully to never resurface again. I can move my body once again, but I haven't regained full sensation. I reach up and pull my hair, beckoning some sort of pain. I need that pain. It's distracting and comforting.

But then there's a man I can't recall—but I don't like him, I know. There's a bad feeling coming from him. I can't exactly identify it, but I don't like it. He waves. I still don't like him. Mom stands. I don't want her near him. "Momma?" I ask, but then blush at how small I sound.

She reaches down, her eyes all sad and weak, and strokes my arm. "Baby, I've just got to talk to the doctor, alright? I'll be right back."

Oh, yeah. He's the doctor. Right.

I try to force myself to calm down—though it doesn't really work. I need to relax and focus on what the hell I'm going to do. I'm pregnant. Again. But this time it's different. I'm not independent anymore—at least not as much as I was—so I think most of it will be up to Mom. But I don't want to burden her with my mistake. I mean, just because I couldn't control the other factors—how much I ate and what I ate and how I kept myself—doesn't mean she has to put up with more shit than she already is. But what else could I do? I know her. She's too nice for her own damn good. As long as me and the baby are there, she's going to try to handle it, but she doesn't need to because it isn't her problem to handle. The only way I could make it where she isn't seriously affected is if I left.

Would that be the best thing? I know she'd be better off without me—I've caused more trouble for her in the last week than anyone I know has in my lifetime. I've stressed her out, aged her, and overall harmed her. She doesn't need me, that's for sure. But I need her. Or do I? Now that I'm away from Mica and his gang…how would I handle myself? If I did okay under oppression, how would I do on my own? I'd bet I'd be able to live, even in this strange new environment. And it would be plenty easy to hide away here; there's so many people. No one would notice a teenage girl and her baby.

Tears punch at my eyes as I realize it: if I want the best for Mom, I'll have to leave, even though I just got back. God, I've miss her so much. But it's what's best for her and…you're supposed to let go of the ones you love, right? Leaving would be the right thing to do.

She comes back in and sits down. "What's happening?"

She swallows hard, her face tired and tight. "It…what I said earlier…it was a sort of miscall.

It's like a rock—a good rock—had been thrown at my stomach. "I'm not…?" I ask. I don't want to have a baby. I really don't want to have a baby.

"Not really—well, technically, yes, but it didn't attack right at the beginning so…there would've been no way it would've held out."

So I am pregnant, but the baby can't survive. It's a dead baby. My baby is a dead baby. Again. I am the mother of a dead baby. Again. "It was doomed from the start?" I ask, just to confirm.

"That…that's about it, yeah.

I guess I can't even hold a pregnancy right. I can't really do anything right these days. "What's going to happen now?"

"They're just going to…I…I guess a good way to say it is that they're going to clean everything out and stitch together any cuts to stop the bleeding."

I wince, imagining a butcher's knife carving into my skin to reach my inners and a sexing needle patching me up like I'm some sort of piece of clothing. "That sounds painful."

Mom shrugs, which means it's probably very painful. "They'll knock—they'll give you something to make you sleep. It'll be tender, that's a definite, but you won't be awake for the worst part of it. After that, they'll give you some nice, big painkillers. You'll be in la-la land."

I sit there, contemplating it. "La-la land…that sounds pretty nice right now." My mind jolts back to all of those times I've seen the opium snorters strung out on the stuff. I was tempted to try it, but I couldn't get my hands on any. They seemed so peaceful. I really could use some peace—as soon as possible.

Mom smiles and leans forward. "Yep, then you'll get to come home and you can just sit around and sleep and eat."

I can't help but grin at the thought of that heavenly bed—a bed I won't have to give up anytime soon. "I'd like that."

I hope this goes well. I really want to go home.

* * *

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	29. Nancy: Time

I don't own!

* * *

The surgery was, quite frankly, an intense and scary experience for me, so I know it must have been terrifying for Rose. However, I'm sure it really helps that she's was (and still is) as drugged up as a junkie. Due to her size and strength, they've had to give her a lower dose of just about everything, but even the little they've been giving her is enough to keep her in a constant state of sleep. Occasionally, they'll wait until it completely wears off to give her the next found, just to make sure that they can easily rouse her when she's not doped up. She hasn't reacted all that well to the anesthetic or to the surgery in general, so her replies mostly consists of moans and grunts. Every few times, she mutter a word or two. They usually don't make any sense. But, other than her constant sleeping and lack of conscious thought, it went well. They removed the fetus, sewn up any damage, and checked for any other type of bleeding. They're expecting to be able to send her home in about two or three days if, God forbid, nothing else happens.

My family has been doting and amazing. It makes me really realize what I missed. The last few years would have been so much easier if I had them dealing with this shit with me, and the more I think about it, the more I know how idiotic I was. And how cruel. God…I'm an awful person. Simply terrible. And the more time I have alone with that thought, the worse I feel about it.

Luckily, after the first day post-surgery, Rose starts to strengthen and wake, even if her voice is slurred and her statements unconnected and sometimes illogical. However, as each minute passes, she gets more and more 'together'. Unfortunately, as the dazed-and-be-happy thoughts fade away, the forgetful-and-confused Rose appears. It started with a slower transition, with the occasional nervous, "Where am I?" But then she wakes from a short nap, jolting up and wincing. Her gaze darts around and her heart rate skyrockets. I reach out and take her hand, which startles her, and causes her to ask between gasps, "What…What's going on? Momma? What?"

I climb up in bed with her (we've both lost enough weight in the last few years that there are more than enough room for us) and cradle her as much as I can. "Shh…" I whisper.

She keeps looking around frantically, her breath coming and going really quickly. "Where—where am—What—You—Momma!"

"It's okay, darling," I tell her and kiss her head. "You're sick and you're here to get better. You're safe."

She nods, but she's not calming down at all. I sigh and reach over for the pain medicine pump they instructed us to use a few hours ago. Maybe it would be better if she was a little dopey, just until she gets back home. That wouldn't freak her out as much as being in a cold, bright hospital. So, I ask, and am granted, for them to keep her in a bit of a haze, just for another day or so.

She stays in a calm, peaceful state for the next forty-eight hours. I sleep and eat and spend any free time either trying to put together what the hell has happened or catching up on modern media. It's been an insane thirteen years, on both accounts. Trying to organize it is a full time job.

But then they tell us that she's being discharged. And that she'll be home within the hour. Blame my sister and all of her medical connections. Although I'm happy about it, it throws me off a tad, especially since Rose is so deep in La La Land that she's practically a rag doll during the whole process. She rides home silently. She's tucked into bed silently. She sleeps for several more hours silently. It's just silence, silence, and more silence.

While I wait, I have my lovely sister and mother to entertain me, which is currently consisting of family gossip. My heart's not really interested in what my second-cousin-that-I've-only-met-twice is doing behind his wife's back. I flop onto my side, sinking into the couch cushions. May cocks her eyebrows. "You okay, Nancers?"

I glare at her. "Don't call me 'Nancers'. I'm fine, just tired."

"And bored. You've never been that interested in the antics of my side of the family," Mom casually says, no offense clear in her voice.

"They've never been that interested in me, so it's mutual."

Mom shrugs, knowing I'm right. The Lopezes have been, at best, ignorant of me and, to be honest, I rather like it that way. The Tremaine side is so much better; I'm their favorite. It's probably because I'm the only one of Dad's bunch that is Jewish as opposed to Mom's Catholicism, but, hey, I'm not complaining. An advantage is an advantage, no matter how small or trivial.

A small beep startles me out of my thoughts. May checks her phone, sighs, and stands from her spot next to me on the couch. "I swear, our office is just about as good as a barrel of monkeys."

"What happened?" I ask, rolling my eyes. Those catty old broads aren't good for much.

"They screwed up a shipping order. I've got to go fix it before they mess up even more." She pats me on the head. "I'll be back soon." And she leaves.

Mom moves over from her chair to where May was sitting. She pats my leg. "Are you doing okay?"

I nod. "Yeah, yeah…I'm just…I guess the word would be 'frazzled'…"

She looks at me with those eternally wise eyes. "You have every right to be, what with the hell you've been through the last few years."

I squint my eyes. Have I already explained what happened? The last week has been a big blur. "What…"

"May told us. I'm guessing you're still standing by every positive thing you've said about your husband?"

Of course, I glare at her. "Yes. God, can't you guys leave it alone? I. Was. Not. Abused."

"But, due to your husband, you didn't…You couldn't report Rose being molested. You couldn't get into therapy. You couldn't report her running away. That's not the actions of a good husband, Nancy; we all just want for you to realize that."

I blink hard, sudden tears of frustration coming to my eyes. "Look," I tell her, trying to sound intimidating, but just coming out pathetic. "There's a lot more to it. It wasn't his fault. There's a lot of things that you guys don't—and can't—know. Can we just leave it at that?"

"For now, darling. But I think it would help all of us if you were honest about it all."

I don't respond and just nuzzle my head further into the cushions.

She gives my ankle a slight rub and says, quietly, "You know I love you, right?"

"Of course," I say, slightly muffled by the pillows. "You're my mother."

"And you know that I support you in all of your decisions, right?"

"Yes, even if it doesn't look like it."

"I'm just concerned and, to be honest, a little scared you're going to go missing again."

I shake my head. "You don't have to worry about that. I…I've experienced it—a—someone you love going missing without a trace—God, I feel terrible for putting you guys through that hell—"

"Are you upset at Rose for leaving?"

"What?" I ask, almost laughing at the prospect. "I mean—She had a reason for leaving and—and it was terrible for her out there. I can't be mad at that."

"Okay, then. It's the same for me. You had a reason for going: you thought you had fallen in love. You had a reason for staying: you had a little girl you had to take care of. You went through a great deal of heartbreak. I'm not upset. Your father isn't upset. None of us are upset, alright?"

I nod. "That—You—I love you guys so much." I twist my body so that I'm lying on my back. "But, also, I'm not going to uproot Rose like that. We're going to be here for awhile."

"I'm very glad. I need to get to know my little granddaughter."

"Oh, don't worry. You'll have your chance. I—I'd really like to start going back to work for a few hours a week once she gets feeling better. I just think some sort of normal schedule would be good for both of us."

"So we'll get to make sure she doesn't get into anything she's not supposed to while you're working."

"That would be really, really nice. I'd just like to, you know, give her a break from me and let her spend some quality time with you two."

"I like that idea."

"Good. It will—"

"Mom?"

There, standing with bleary eyes and a hand pressed to her stomach, is Rose.

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	30. Rose: Comfort

Hello! I hope you guys had a really happy holiday! Mine was lovely; I got to see the ever so epic Les Miserables on Christmas Day, all whilst dressed up as Eponine. Let me tell you, the best way to feel like a badass is to march in a crowded theatre wearing a costume and carrying a huge red flag. Anyway, enough of my rambling.

I don't own.

* * *

My first conscious, memorable experience after they shot me up with that stinging injection is waking up and not knowing where the hell I am. I open my eyes—God, they're heavy—and am immediately confused. I was in the hospital, wasn't I? This—This doesn't look like the hospital. It's a lot more calming here. Then I realize it: I'm back at the apartment. I'm in Mom's bed. It's warm and smells like her, for the most part (it's a little dusty, but otherwise her). It's extremely nice.

But I know I can't stay here; I've got to check on Mom, make sure that she's okay. Then I can crawl back into my little hole known as my mother's mattress. I force myself up, ignoring the intense ache radiating from my gut, and stumble down the hall. She's lying on the couch with Nana talking, though I can't quite put together what they're saying (they're at a distance and my mind is jumbled). So, simply, I ask, "Mom?"

She jerks up, eyes wide and startled. Yeah, I should've been a little bit more tactful. She stands up and moves around to me, quickly, and says, "Rose! You're up. Why—You should be resting."

I blink, having a bit of trouble piecing together a sentence. "I…I wanted…you, um, I, uh…er…I just…wanted…to…make sure…that you—that you—"

She cups my cheek, smiling tenderly. "It's okay, darling. Why don't we get you make in bed, hmm? You shouldn't be up quite yet."

I nod as she leads me back into the bedroom. She gently helps me get back under the blankets, get comfortable again. Then she climbs up there with me, snuggling close to me, and stroking my hair. It's downright amazing. It distracts me from that dreadful ache as well as relaxing me. I nuzzle her. "You okay?" I finally manage to mutter.

She grins. "Yup. You okay?"

"I'm…yeah…" I slur, before I drop back off into sleep land.

Two nightmares later, I wake, feeling quite a bit better than the first time, as well as more alert. I look over; Mom's still here with me, though she's sitting up and writing something in a notebook. When she notices I'm awake again, she puts her pen down and starts to play with my bangs. "Good morning, beautiful."

"Hi," I mumble. I grab the nearby pillow and hug it. "I really like your bed."

She chuckles. "Yeah, it's awesome, right?" She moves the notebook off of her lap and puts it on the nearby table so that she can turn to me, so that we're facing each other. "Are you feeling better?"

I nod. "Mmm-hmm…It's not hurting as much. Are you, um, are you, I dunno, feeling alright? You—You looked kinda, well, kinda freaked out earlier…"

She kisses me on my forehead. "You're so sweet. Yes, I'm perfectly fine. I was just a little scared, that's all. Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl; I can handle it."

"Me too," I say, even though it really feels like it's the farthest from the truth. I can't handle it—I can try, but…I usually end up screwing it all up. Just like I screw everything up.

She looks at me sadly, then tells me, her voice low and steady, "You know it's okay to not be okay, right? You—You've had a rough time lately and…" She grimaces. "It's alright if you need help sometimes. I expect for you to."

But what if I want to, for once, go past the expectations? What if I want to actually do something right? I shake my head. "I—I can—You…You said it. I'm a big girl. I can handle it."

"Rose, you're thirteen. You're a young girl—a young woman—and it's okay if you can't. I just need for you to know that, alright. Everyone has a certain point where things get too much and is too overwhelming and they need someone to step in and take care of it. It's normal if you're past that point—Hell, _I'm_ past that point right now—"

"But…You…You said that you're 'perfectly fine'. You—that—that doesn't sound like 'perfectly fine'. Mom—just—could you tell me the truth?"

She sighs heavily and turns away from me, but then rethinks it and reverses her move. "Yes. I—You're right. I'm not 'perfectly fine'. You—God—it's just been a very emotional few days, for both of us. I mean—right now I'm having to handle a lot of things that are on my mind and there's so much I need to do and set straight, but that's why I called my parents and siblings; they're helping me—helping us, and that really takes a load off of me, which means that I can focus on what really matters."

I nod, letting a breath out. It makes me rather uneasy. "I—what were you writing?" I ask, wishing to change the subject.

She rolls her eyes playfully. "Just all of the crap I've got to do. I want to have it written down so I can figure out what to do first, what I can have someone else do, et cetera, et cetera. It's mostly the basic stuff; you know, doctors, shopping, money. All that jazz."

I sit up a little, propping myself on the pillows. How much am I bogging her down? "C—can I see it?"

"Sure." She reaches over and grabs it, handing it to me. I scan the document, seeing how it was broken down. It was mostly lists broken into sublists. I come across the list with my name written on top, and then see the list of things that she has to do for me. It's huge. There are doctors and lawmen and education and titles I don't understand—it's all too much for her to do. She's spending more time than I deserve.

I hand it back to her. "This—you don't have to do all of that for me. I—I don't even know half of what some of these things are."

She sits up too. "Come here, I'll tell you what they are."

I scoot closer to her, so I can see the writing.

"Okay, so this is just a list of the different kinds of doctors I'd like to take you too. They're just funny names for them. Pediatricians are just doctors for kids. Gynecologists are doctors for your lady parts. Ophthalmologists are for your eyes. Dentists are for your teeth. Nutritionists are to help figure out the best way for you to regain the weight you've lost. Psychologists and psychiatrists are to help you, um, deal with things that have happened—the emotions and memories and stuff."

I scrunch my eyebrows together in confusion at the last one. "How do they do that? I mean…I just…How do they help? I mean—there's—there's no problems and doctors need problems to treat, don't they?" It's just one more thing she has to worry about, and she's done enough as it is.

"I—I won't sugarcoat this: I think we're both in for some problems and I don't think it will be very long until we hit them. I mean, you're already are having nightmares—or I think you are. I've seen the way you look when you wake up and…you just look pretty scared sometimes. Hell, I've have some nightmares recently. I just think that it would help both of us if we went to one."

I nuzzle into her side, guilt heavy on my shoulders for putting her through so much shit. "I missed you," I tell her, quietly.

She kisses the top of my head. "I missed you too, Rosie-Roo."

* * *

Please review!


	31. Nancy: Comfort

Hello! Sorry for the wait. It's been an absolutely mad two weeks. I got the opportunity to go to New York City where I saw Idina Menzel (Nancy's actress, in case you didn't know, which would be a tad bit odd seeing as I think anyone willing to stick through an Nancy-fic to this has to been at least aware of Idina and her marvelousness) sing at Carnegie Hall. The best part of it is when she sang 'Take Me Or Leave Me' from the musical RENT; she picked four people out of the audience and I was one of them! It was the best moment of my life.

After that I had midterms/finals. I hope anyone reading this who also took them recently did really well!

Also, I know this has to be getting really repetitive, but it's just part of the story I have to get out of the way. It shouldn't be too much longer before things will be shaken up a bit.

Annndddd I still don't own.

* * *

"Rose!" I cheer as I leap off of the couch and over to her. Then I remember: she's still recovering from the surgery. "You're up. Why—you should be resting."

Her sleepy eyes go glazed as she mumbles, "I…I wanted…you, um, I, uh…er…I just…wanted…to…make sure…that you—that you—"

She should definitely not be out of bed. She can't even form a coherent idea. I stroke her cheek because, to be honest, she's being very cute and puppyish, what with her slight pout and murmuring. "It's okay, darling," I tell her, even though I'm not exactly sure what I'm 'okaying'. "Why don't we get you back in bed, hmm? You shouldn't be up quite yet."

She nods and I smile as we walk back into the bedroom. I keep a hand on her back as she climbs back up under the blankets—just to make sure she doesn't fall or something—and then I tuck her in snugly. I get up there too; I'll stay with her until she falls asleep. I run my fingers through her hair. It's dry, matted, and has an intense need to be washed. Tomorrow I'll have to get on that. But, as I'm contemplating the state of my daughter's hair, she asks, quietly, "You okay?"

I can help the grin that forces itself on my face. Here she is, in pain and traumatized, and she's asking _me_ if I'm 'okay'. She's so damn sweet that it's unbelievable. "Yup. You okay?"

She loosely nods, mumbles something, and dozes back off. I chuckle. It's like she's a toddler again, I swear. She was such a sleepy little thing sometimes.

Once I'm sure she's out for the count, I get up and go back into the living room. Mom's watching me expectantly. "How is she?"

"Drugged up and tired and—you won't believe this—concerned about _me_. God…just…would you believe it? After all the shit she's been through, she's remained a considerate person. I'm not sure how she has, but she has. But do I look upset or sick? She seemed awfully concerned about me. I don't look _that_ rough, do I?"

Mom tightens her face and turns her head, her gritted teeth visible. "_Uh_…yeah, you look pretty bad, sweetheart, in all honesty. You could go for a little bit more rest, a few more meals, and maybe a lavender bath or two. Once things calm down you'll be back to your springy, sassy self."

I sigh and sit back down on the sofa. Mom joins me. She strokes my hair. "So, what's she like?"

I think about her and her cute little personality, how she'd find abandoned bunnies in the garden, sneak bread from the kitchen, and crack quiet jokes about DuPont. I chuckle weakly. "She's fantastic, she really is. She acts a lot like May—a lover, hyperactive and sweet. I remember when she was…I don't know, five? Six? She found out what meat was and swore off of it. I thought, you know, 'yeah, right, like she's going to stick with this', but she did. She's stuck with it since then. Oh, oh, and she's always been so clever—God, almighty, some of the shit she used to pull when she was little! I remember—she couldn't have been older than three—she would play hide-and-seek anytime me and Edward had to go somewhere so that we wouldn't…"

The memories are strong, clear, and potent. Her little toddler self would hide in any place possible before a ball, before we'd leave her with Damian. The pieces fall into place and the tears rise in my eyes. I shake my head. "She was hiding so that we wouldn't leave her alone with that _bastard_. She was scared of this big man who was hurting her—and I never knew! I—it was right there! Right in front of me! But I chose to ignore it—to call it a child's play—and then let it happen! God, the signs were there. They were all there. But I was just too damned ignorant to see them. God, I'm such a fuck up…" I curl my fingers in my hair, pulling just hard enough to cause pain.

Mom wraps her arm around me and pulls me close. The warmth is comforting—a comfort I don't think I deserve. "There, there," she says. "Don't go blaming yourself. It'll only stress both you and Rose out. It wasn't your fault—you trusted him and he chose to betray that trust. No parent looks for signs of abuse in people that they trust."

I shake my head, but say nothing. Mom doesn't add anything either. She just holds me, lets me cry, and pats my back.

Rose yells.

It's not very strong, and more like a moan than a yell, but it's still enough to send me flying off the couch and back into the bedroom. She's curled up on the bed, her eyes closed, her fingers going white from her grip on the pillow. She let's out another little whine. "Rose?" I ask, carefully. She doesn't respond. I sigh. Nightmare. I crawl up onto the bed and rest my hand on her arm. She trembles at the touch, even in her sleep. I stay there; I think we'd both be more comfortable in the same room. I look up and see Mom with a questioning face, holding her thumb up. I nod. She whispers, "I'm just going to get out of here and give you two some peace and quiet. I'll be back to bring dinner." I nod again and relax as she leaves. I love her, but I think I just need some alone time with Rose.

I stay there, dozing, for about an hour. Rose hasn't stirred anymore, which is comforting. But in that hour all the things I've got to do pile up in my head. There are so many doctors that she needs to see, so many things she's got to learn if she wants to even stand a chance at leading a normal life here—and beyond that I'm going to be going back to work, so there's all of that paperwork. God, it's going to take awhile to figure out what the hell is happening. And the police! What am I going to tell them? Crap, I've got a lot to get together.

I carefully get up, fetch my laptop, a notebook and pen, and sit back down. I bum off of my neighbor's internet, just long enough for me to get a list of different kinds of doctors I'd like to take Rose to. I need to make sure that every inch of her is okay. I scribble down the list and close the laptop. I don't really want to give Rosie anymore culture shock—she's been though enough of it in the last few days. To pass even more time doing something vaguely productive, I make myself a massive to-do list. Every few minutes, I check on Rose, making sure that she's sleeping soundly. But then she wakes, her gaze drowsy, but more alert than they were earlier. I set my stuff down and brush at her hair. "Good morning beautiful."

"Hi…I really like your bed."

"Yeah, it's awesome, right?" And expensive. That NASA shit doesn't come cheap. I put my supplies on the nightstand and turn onto my side. "Are you feeling better?"

She nods. "Mmm-hmm…it's not hurting as much. Are you, um, are you, I dunno, feeling alright? You—you looked kinda, well, kinda freaked out earlier…"

And it starts again. I can't resist kissing her—if I don't, I might burst into another fit of crying because of how fucked up the whole situation is. "You're so sweet," I tell her. "Yes, I'm perfectly fine. I was just a little scared, that's all. Don't worry about me. I'm a big girl; I can handle it."

Her eyebrows set closer together and she says, in a determined little voice, "Me too."

I resist wincing. She's trying so hard when she doesn't have to, doesn't need to. What makes it worse is that I know she has to be putting on this facade of strength for my benefit. "You know it's okay to not be okay, right? You—you've had rough time lately and…" The thoughts of the horrors she went up against—just the ones that I know of—pummel me. "It's alright if you need help sometimes. I expect for you to."

Her face growing harder, she says, "I—I can—You…you said it. I'm a big girl. I can handle it."

"Rose, you're thirteen. You're a young girl—a young woman—and it's okay if you can't. I just need for you to know that, alright. Everyone has a certain point where things get too much and is too overwhelming and they need someone to step in and take care of it. It's normal if you're past that point—Hell, _I'm_ past that point right now—"

"But…You…You said that you're 'perfectly fine'." Shit. This isn't helping me. "You—that—that doesn't sound like 'perfectly fine'. Mom—just—could you tell me the truth?"

I turn, feeling gross at the accusation of lying to her. Hell, I did lie to her. I flip back around. I take a deep breath and say, "Yes. I—You're right. I'm not 'perfectly fine'. You—God—it's just been a very emotional few days, for both of us. I mean—right now I'm having to handle a lot of things that are on my mind and there's so much I need to do and set straight, but that's why I called my parents and siblings; they're helping me—helping us, and that really takes a load off of me, which means that I can focus on what really matters."

Her looks grow nervous, but then relaxed. "I—what were you writing?"

I smirk and shrug. "Just all of the crap I've got to do. I want to have it written down so I can figure out what to do first, what I can have someone else do, et cetera, et cetera. It's mostly the basic stuff; you know, doctors, shopping, money. All that jazz."

She pushes herself up, which makes me a little antsy. "C—can I see it?"

"Sure." I hand the notepad to her and she scans it.

She gives it back in an odd, jerky behavior. "This—you don't have to do all of that for me. I—I don't even know half of what some of these things are."

I sit up straight and beckon her closer. "Come here, I'll tell you what they are." She comes closer, peeking at the papers. I read off the list, but mentally slow when I get to the last two items. I say, as nonchalantly as I can, "Psychologist and psychiatrists are to help you, um, deal with things that have happened—the emotions and memories and stuff."

She looks completely and utterly baffled. "How do they do that? I mean…I just…How do they help? I mean—there's—there's no problems and doctors need problems to treat, don't they?"

I take another breath. I'm not going to fib to her anymore. "I—I won't sugarcoat this: I think we're both in for some problems and I don't think it will be very long until we hit them. I mean, you're already are having nightmares—or I think you are. I've seen the way you look when you wake up and…you just look pretty scared sometimes. Hell, I've have some nightmares recently. I just think that it would help both of us if we went to one."

She digs her head into my side, like an attention seeking cat. "I missed you," she whispers, melting my heart into a sickeningly sweet pile of goo.

I give her another kiss and say, smirking, "I missed you too, Rosie-Roo."

* * *

Please review!


	32. Rose: Break

Hey, guys! Sorry this took so long; life is a little crazy for me right now. Anyway, I hope you like it.

I don't own.

* * *

I love my life.

Sure, I have terrible nightmares, can't count on the ability to look anyone in the eye, and have an odd disinterest in food (much to my mother's dismay), but, other than that, live is pretty sweet, especially compared to what is was two weeks ago. I have now bathed—well, sort of. It was a sponge bath, but it still made me smell better than I had in years. Mom's somehow made my hair look presentable again (detangling it was a painful process, but well worth it) and my incision marks are healing slowly, but healthily. Mom says that after another week or two, it should be well enough that I can actually get in a soak. I'm really looking forward to that.

Also, this whole New York place? It's awesome and weird and wonderful. They have these things, TVs, and they're just a continuous source of entertainment (moving pictures!). And phones. Phones are probably the coolest thing I've ever seen. It just amazes me that people can talk when they're miles and miles apart.

Mom's happier too—or at least happier than she was when we first arrived. Her—our—family has been here constantly, in rotations, ever since. I'm pretty sure Mom missed them more than she's admitting, especially Aunt May. For that reason, I've been choosing to keep quiet when they're around, be the good proper child and let the adults talk. They do talk to me more than any adults I've ever met, and they smile and laugh more. Andalasia seems downright stuffy compared to these people.

However, there's still a pretty large amount of tension in the air, between me and Mom, between her and Nana, between her and Aunt May, and most of all between her and Aunt Ani. There's been times where I wouldn't know if they were about to hug each other or kill each other. It's a little bit disturbing. On the plus side, the awkwardness between me and Mom is fading more and more by the day, which is comforting.

In a particular cozy moment, Mom asks me, "Rosie, how would you react if I said that I might go run some errands tomorrow and have May and your Nana stay? It wouldn't be for very long. I just need to check on a few things."

I shrug. "It's okay by me.

And so, the next day, she saunters out of her bedroom into the living room (where I'm watching some weird show about a time traveler), wearing a matching blue blazer and pants, looking much more intimidating now that she's out of the baby blue sweatpants. She sits down next to me on the couch and asks, "Are you sure you're okay with this? I can do it another day if you're not."

I swear, that must be the fiftieth time she's suggested that. I shake my head. "No, go. I'll be fine."

There's a loud pounding on the door, which I've come to realize is May's signature knock (it sounds like it's a troll wanting to get in instead of a tiny woman). I stay planted on the sofa as Mom goes to answer it. But, suddenly, I hear Mom's voice, stern and low, saying, "No."

"Come on, Nancers!" May cries out. "Give the kid a little bit of fun! It won't hurt her, I swear."

"She'll bust her stitches. It's not a good idea."

"Mom? Ma, help me out here. Tell Nancy what you told me."

Nana: "All I said was that it could be beneficial to Rose, maybe to get her to relax. You told me yourself, she loves—"

"Yes, I know what I said, but I still don't think we should."

"If it gets too rough, I'll end it. Me and Ma'll be watching them like hawks. Don't worry. It will be fine."

A heavy sigh. "_Fine_."

I turn my head to see May and—what the hell?

Prancing into the room is this giant white…thing. Dear God, it's fluffy. And white. And adorable. And has the prettiest black eyes shining through the massive amount of whiteness. I grin as it walks over to me and nudges my hand, licking it. I laugh at the sensation and run my fingers through it's fur, now being able to identify the creature as a dog. A very, very soft and cute dog.

May steps in too, unhooking the leash. "Rosie, this is Polar Bear, or PoPo for short. He's my baby boy."

"Hi, there, PoPo," I coo, leaning forward despite the ache in my gut. "Why, aren't you a handsome fella?" He gives me a gentle lick on the nose. What a sweet boy.

Mom comes back in, grimacing. "Rose, I'm not going to be too long, alright? And don't get too rough with him or you'll hurt yourself."

"Okay," I tell her.

She gives me a kiss on the forehead. "I love you."

"I love you too."

Then PoPo gives me another little kiss. When I hear the door shut, I slide down to the floor, which makes Po happy, or at least it makes him nuzzle into my neck.

May and Nana sit down on the couch, both looking pleased. "He likes you," May says.

I nod and keep petting him.

"So, Rosie, are you feeling better? Honestly?" Nana asks.

"Oh, yeah," I say. "It's still achy, but it's a lot better than how I have been."

"How are you liking New York?"

"It's pretty cool, or what I've seen is. I haven't really been allowed to go out yet."

"Don't worry, hon," May says, grinning slyly. "We'll change that soon."

Po lies down and rolls over, exposing his pink belly. I rub it like it's my sworn duty.

"Have you heard any word from your father?" Nana asks, which throws me off a little. I don't know how much Mom has told them, so I've got to be careful.

"No, but I'm not really expecting him to. He's doing his thing, you know…all that stuff."

"What's he like?" May asks. "I haven't really gotten to ask your mother about him. I'm curious."

I flash them a smile. "Oh, he's great. He's really kind to everyone. Sometimes he's a little air-headed, but he makes up for it in effort."

May nods, then laughs as I hit Po's tickle spot, causing his leg to kick uncontrollably. She gets up, saying, "I'm gonna put a movie on. Chicago good for you two?"

Nana nods and I shrug. "I don't know what that is."

May smiles, looking like a little devil, what with that mischievous sparkle in her eye. "Oh, this'll be fun."

The movie starts with an instrumental whine. I settle myself, leaning up against the couch with Po's head in my lap. Music—wonderful music like that of huge symphonies—plays. Unlike all of the other films I've seen since I've arrived, these characters sing. It's thrilling and reminds me of those times Dad would goofily burst into song, causing Mom to be reduced to giggles.

However, things go bad pretty quickly. Sex, booze, murder…it's all within the first five minutes. But, oddly enough, I'm not afraid of it like I have been in any other film. I'm intrigued. They've made it so glamorized and pretty…it takes the bite off of these horrible, horrible things. It makes discussing it almost—no—_actually_ entertaining. Po falls asleep, but I stay wide awake, watching this incredible thing.

"So, you're a musical person?" Aunt May asks, sounding amused.

"Is that what these are called?" I ask, enthralled by this medium that makes everything better. I want more of it.

"Y…yeah. That's what they're called. You like it?"

I nod rapidly.

Aunt May lets out a devious little giggle. "Oh, we're going to drive your mother nuts. She's not exactly one for random musical numbers."

"She doesn't seem to mind it when my dad does it, which is, like, all the time," I say, more to myself. It intrigues me that she could dislike something so amazing.

"Eh. Maybe she's learned to like—"

She's cut off by a dull, slow knocking. She hops up and answers it. I ignore it and turn back to Chicago.

Suddenly, Mom plops back down. Huh. Would've never thought of her as a dull knocker. She kisses the top of my head. "Hello, darling."

I cuddle into her shoulder. "Hi. You get everything done?"

"Yep. What are you…_May_!" she growls. "The h—heck? I don't think she should be watching this."

"She's thirteen. I mean, look at her; she loves it."

I nod, grinning.

Mom just shakes her head. "You two…" But she just sighs, flops her head back, and watches it with us.

Yes, life is good.

* * *

Also, Po is a Samoyed, if you wanted to see a picture of what he looks like. They're adorable dogs.

Please, review!


	33. Nancy: Break

Hello! Okay, I'm only a few hours late, so I'm doing better. I don't know why, but I'm just starting to run out of steam for this story. Hopefully it's just a bought of writer's block that I have to push through in order to continue.

I don't own.

* * *

My Rose, my precious, precious Rose, is driving me absolutely mad.

You'd think after being starved, she'd be a chow hound. Eating anything in sight. I turn into a waste disposer when I have to go _one day_ without food, let alone the hell she's been through. But nope. She's not eating hardly anything, and that little bit takes me begging her. I'm starting to wonder if it's she herself who chose to go without eating. I know that eating disorders are common among sexually abused girls. Could she be anorexic? I'm beginning to think so. Other than that, she's been doing very well. A downright trooper. She accepts anything I throw at her, whether it be medicine, media, or new technology, and takes it in stride. She doesn't even question any of it.

She's been so quiet, though, especially around my family. It hurts to see her like this. I remember the bright, talkative girl I once had and see this cautious teen she's become. It pisses me off to think of the bastards that've done this to her.

One thing that has stuck—no, increased—is her love of affection and cuddling. Most days she'll grab the bottom of my shirt like a baby monkey and follow me wherever I go in the apartment. The clinginess is quite nice, but it's not helping my attempts to get out of the house, for my own sanity.

However, I need to face the facts: I'm getting stir-crazy. As much as I love spending time with Rose, I do realize I need to get out, stretch my legs, and breath a little bit of that filthy New York City air. Which is why one evening, when Rose and I are cuddled together, I ask, "Rosie, how would you react if I said that I might go run some errands tomorrow and have may and your Nana stay? It wouldn't be for very long. I just need to check on a few things."

I watch her carefully as she shrugs, her face showing no emotion, good or bad. "It's okay by me."

So there's my answer.

Of course, I spend the next eighteen hours worrying about it. What if Rose is lying to me, telling me it's okay when it's not? I mean, it's not like she's never played the 'I'm alright if you are' card. She's just so damned nervous about everything—I don't want for her to feel like I'm abandoning her, even if it's only for an hour or two. But every time I ask her again, she just nods, calmly tells me that she's fine with it, and goes back to whatever she's doing (she's become rather fond of the TV).

I get ready, feeling sharp and oddly masculine in my nice work clothes. It's been so damn long since I wore actual pants. I head out and sit down with her on the couch. She's watching Doctor Who (which, for the record, I only know about because Anita is a total sci-fi junkie sometimes). I ask her, for what I mentally promise will be the last time, "Are you sure you're okay with this? I can do it another day if you're not."

She, being my ever so patient daughter, shakes her head and replies, "No, go. I'll be fine."

May bangs at my door in her May-way. I answer it and hold back a gasp.

There is this big ass dog standing in my hallway.

"No," I tell May right off the bat. No way, no how. There's not going to be a giant canine running around with my daughter. She's still to weak for any of that shit.

"Come on, Nancers!" May whines, causing me to wince at both her tone and her choice of horrid nicknames. "Give the kid a little bit of fun! It won't hurt her, I swear."

"She'll bust her stitches," I say. Or he'll sit on her with his huge doggy ass and crush her insides. "It's not a good idea."

"Mom? Ma, help me out here. Tell Nancy what you told me."

Is she really pitting Mom against me. Of course she is.

"All I said was that it could be beneficial to Rose…maybe to get her to relax. You told me yourself, she loves—"

"Yes, I know what I said, but I still don't think we should."

"If it gets too rough, I'll end it. Me and Ma'll be watching them like hawks. Don't worry. It will be fine."

I sigh, shaking my head. I swear, my sister gives me more grief than my teenage daughter. "_Fine_."

May and the dog rush past me into the living room. I give Mom a look. "You'll keep control of things, right?"

Mom just pats me on the cheek with a smile and replies, "Of course."

In the next room, Rose is happily playing with the dog, stroking it's fur and letting it (grossly) lick her nose. I shake my head. "Rose, I'm not going to be too long, alright? And don't get too rough with him or you'll hurt yourself."

I don't think she heard a word I said when she replies with a distracted, "Okay."

I give her a kiss. "I love you."

"I love you too," she says, as a muscle memory reply. Apparently, the dog is more important than saying goodbye.

I know it's ridiculous that as I walk out I start to cry a little. Am I really jealous over a dog? I mean, of course she loves me more than that damned thing, but I would've thought that she would've given me at least a second look before letting me leave the apartment. I guess I should be happy; that just means that she's not as psychologically damaged as once thought, what with her being able to just let me go like that, but it still hurts a little. But that could be my slight sleep deprivation talking.

I get out onto the streets and all of that remorse leaves me as the sounds of cars hocking and people talking ring through my ears. I grin. I haven't felt this at home in fourteen years. And despite that fourteen years full of having so much shit shoved into my brain, I still remember exactly how to get to my studio. It's a weekday, so my entire crew, minus May, of course, will be there (or at least most of them; May said a few people have left, but no one that was really dear to me). I need to reunite with them, especially my closest friend (besides May), Brian.

I carefully sneak into the office, not wanting to startle the already jumpy receptionist, Roxie. I clear my throat and she jumps up, eyes wide and alert. Then she smiles, rushing from around the desk with her arms wide. "Nancy!" She wraps me in a hug that reeks of perfume.

The embrace lasts a good thirty seconds before she backs up. "May—she said you were back—she didn't tell us anything else—you're here!"

Suddenly, someone grabs me from behind and picks me up, my feet hovering a foot or two above the ground. I laugh. It's Brian. I really missed him.

He puts me down, gives me a proper hug, and then holds me out. Every inch of his tall, black, gay self is examining me. Then he clicks his tongue. "God, you're skinnier than one of those anorexic models." The word 'anorexic' makes me flinch. "You, me, after this, ice cream and burgers, no skimping on the condiments."

I chuckle. "Sorry, I can't. I—I have a daughter—"

The two gasp.

"—And I don't want to leave her for too long."

A few seconds pass.

"Oh my god—"

"What's her name—"

"How old is she—"

"Who's the daddy—"

"What does she have to say about your apparent eating disorder—"

"Does she want a kitten—"

I hold up my hands to get them to stop. I take a deep breath and answer, "Rose. Thirteen. My husband, Edward. It's not an eating disorder, though I think she might have one. And yes, she would love one, but I'm not ready to have something else to take care of." I nod, curtly. "We good?"

"No, but we can finish later. Come, my queen, let me escort you back to your kingdom," Brian says, which pangs me with an indescribably bad feeling. After all that's happened, I don't want to be queen or have a kingdom or be married to a king. I just want to be Nancy Tremaine, businesswoman, designer, and, most importantly, mother to Rose Tremaine.

I take Brian's arm and he walks me into the main design room. Of course, by now, everyone's watching with surprised, happy eyes. And then they start clapping and I feel like I'm in some cheesy Hallmark movie. And then I start crying like I'm watching one. It's a flurry of quick hugs, kisses, and, "I missed you"s before it calms down enough for me to make a small announcement.

I hush them with a gentle wave of my hands and say, "Look, I know I've been gone for a long ass time—"

"No shit!" Lindsay, one of my younger employees, shouts.

"But I do plan on coming back to work soon enough and having everything get back to normal. It's going to take some time, though, for me to get back to full hours; I have a thirteen year old daughter and we're in a very awkward place in our lives. So, just, I don't know…be patient with me? I guess? I mean, I'm kinda still your boss, so you have to be, but…you know what I mean.

I look up at the clock. I've already been here for a very fast hour. I shake my head. "Look, I've got to head out—I've got a few more stops to make and all of that stuff—but I'll come back soon, alright? I've just got to get everything settled and all of that."

Everyone says their goodbyes and all before letting me leave. I'm not two strides out of the store before I hear Brian shout, "Nance! Wait!"

I stop. "Yes?"

He slings his arm around my shoulder. "I'm taking off for the rest of the day. Come on. I'll help you with whatever you need help with."

Some thing's off with him. He hasn't offered to help me with anything since I went through that little 'I'm a proud woman and I don't need any help from any man' phase in college. I usually have to ask. So, I say, "You alright? You're being oddly…eager."

He smiles, sadly. "I think the real question is: are _you_ alright, Little Miss Skinny Black Eye Unstable Tremaine?"

I scoff. "Unstable? What gives you _that_ idea?" I thought I held myself together quite well, thankyouverymuch.

"You were…well…a little shaky in there, and I've never seen you shaky. You're not a shaky woman. And you just look unhinged, if you don't mind me being honest."

I shake my head. "It—it's a long story, but part of the reason I came to New York is…God, Rose has been through _hell_ and I just—" My voice starts to crack. "I—I just want to get her as far away from it as possible."

He nods solemnly. "I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?"

I bite my lip, then answer. "I need to pick her up some clothes, but I'm not too sure what to get—we came here with only the clothes on our backs, so, I mean, I have tons of stuff, but she doesn't even have her own freaking toothbrush here."

He sighs. "Answer me this: are you two running from something or someone? I don't need details—not yet—but I'd like a simple yes or no."

"Yes, we are," I tell him. "So we're both coming out of a very bad situation and need a new start—well, she needs a new start. I just need my old life, or a semblance of my old life, back."

He nods once again. "So, we need clothes, toiletries, feminine products, if she needs them already—"

I wince, feeling an odd pressure build up in my body.

"Okay, touchy subject. Uh…"

I lean in. "She was molested." It relieves some of it, but not all of it. Not by a long shot.

"Oh. Okay. That…"

"I got married to a guy, regretted it, but found out I was pregnant so I had to stay with him and his crazy ass friends and family, didn't know my daughter was being raped for God-only-knows how long right under my nose, had my daughter taken from me three years ago, and then, randomly, she pops back up again a few weeks ago, emaciated and dehydrated and beaten, with a gunshot wound and an ectopic pregnancy, which was conceived via rape. That's the gist of it." The pressure is gone, but an aching numbness replaces it. I rest my head on his shoulder, letting him rub my back.

He kisses me on the head. "Okay, I—I think you have reasons to be a little lost right now."

After about a minute, I pull away from him. "And now I'm here with no idea what I'm doing."

He nods. "I—my fiance is a counselor and he volunteers at a women's shelter. Do you want for me to call him? I can have him take off work—family emergency—and he can help you organize and such. Would you feel comfortable with me doing that?"

"Yeah," I say. If Brian trusts him, I trust him, and I really could use a therapist's advice right about now.

We agree to meet his fiance, who's name is Howie, at the K-Mart. The walk over there isn't intense, with us both avoiding difficult topics. Most of it is Brian gushing about how amazing Howie is and how much he loves him and how happy he is now that I can be at—or possibly in, if things work out—the wedding. We get over there and are greeted by a humorously short, effeminate as hell man. Howie. He gives me a soft handshake and walks inside.

The first floor is nothing but women's clothes, really. It doesn't take long for me to pick out a few cute outfits and a few cozy PJs (Howie tells me, gently, "Be sure to avoid cleavage. Most girls who react as skittishly as you've described her as don't like showing skin; it makes them feel vulnerable and exposed."). Then we get all of the other crap, like toothbrushes and shampoos and soaps and that kind of stuff. Then Howie leads me to the home decor. I scrunch my eyebrows together. "What do we need here?"

"Bedding," he says, going to the junior girls' section, which is an explosion of bright colors, mostly pinks and purples. "You said she doesn't own anything here besides some raggedy clothes, right? Well, it's important that she has her own stuff. Her own blanket. Her own pillow. Flashlight, towel, bag, robe—there's just some items that she needs to be able to pick up and say, 'This is mine.' And if you ever need to use them, unless it's an emergency, you need to ask for her permission. This should give her a small sense of control—she probably needs all the help she can get in that department. May I ask, does she have her own room?"

"No, it's a one bedroom apartment."

"A tiny-ass apartment."

"Shut up."

Howie chuckles. "You might want to think about moving so that she can have her own space."

I shrug. "I know, I know. I just don't want to uproot her again."

"That's a good concern, but I think if you keep the area close, within a few blocks—maybe even in the same building—and do it soon, before she's too settled in, it should be alright. Privacy will probably become a pretty big issue, especially if she doesn't have her own room. Right now I'd say she's still in a bit of a shock, as well as just happy to have you back. You probably bring an added element of safety to her psyche that nothing else can provide. However, it doesn't seem like she's ever had much control or privacy over the simplest of things, so that need will kick in soon. I think allowing her that space before that sets in could save you from some conflict later."

I nod. He makes sense. I know that there are a few two-bedroom apartments a few floors up from me. I'll have to look into them.

The rest of the shopping trip goes by in a mess of clothes, blankets, games, and books, as well as some psychobabble to spice things up. The bill comes out outrageously high, but I've been building interest for fourteen years; I can splurge if I want to.

I pick up some dinner and haul me and my massively large amount of bags up to my place. Since my hands are full, I knock on the door with my forehead. May answers it, takes a look at me, and laughs. "Did you buy out K-Mart?"

"Shut up and help me, Tremaine. I bought you dinner."

She takes part of the load and we set it down in the kitchen. Rose is sitting on the floor with the dog's head in her lap, no stitches obviously undone and no extra bruises or bite marks. I sit down next to her and give her a kiss. "Hello, darling."

She snuggles into me. I grin. I've only been gone for a few hours, yet I've missed her and her cuddle-bug-ness. "Hi. You get everything done?"

"Yep." I look up at the screen. "What are you…" The dancers, the music, the murder…I know what this is. "_May_!" I shout. "The h—heck? I don't think she should be watching this." Yes, show the girl one of the most sexual movies I've seen. That's a fan-fucking-tastic idea.

"She's thirteen. I mean, look at her; she loves it."

Rose flashes a bright grin that I recognize from her childhood. That, 'Pretty please with sprinkles on top' look. It kills me every time.

I shake my head, knowing how much trouble I'm in. "You two…"

They're going to drive me mad, I tell you.

* * *

Please review! It really motivates me!


	34. Nancy: Confrontation

Hey, guys! Sorry this is so late. Life has this little way of demanding attention.

I don't own.

* * *

I am so fucking worried right now, I could scream. I could just yell and keep yelling, without stopping. I want to yank at my hair, my shirt, my everything just out of the pure frustration. And all of this is because of those goddamn detectives thinking it's a fan-fucking-tastic idea to separate me and my daughter.

I understand that they don't want me coaching her; I get that (no matter how stupid it is because I've already coached the hell out of her before she left the apartment). But they could have, at least, had us interviewed at the same time so that I'm not just sitting here, bored and listless, praying that they don't fuck up with Rose. There's so many bad scenarios: they could make her emotional trauma even worse, they could get her to accidentally talk about Andalasia, they could push her too far and have her confess to something that never happened. The possibilities are endless. And the longer I sit here, the worse those possibilities become.

I stand from the small couch they have in their office and start poking around for a soda machine.

"Looking for something?"

I turn to see Detective Christopher Elliot walking up. I weakly smile. "Anywhere I can get a drink around here?"

He tells me yes and leads me up the hall, where a vending machine hums calmly. He buys me a Coke, which I don't object to; I don't particularly like him. "Can I ask you a question?" I say after taking a sip. "Why don't you guys interview us both at the same time? I don't want for her to have to wait out here for so damned long after she's done. She'll be stressed out enough."

"Well, in cases where there's a possibility of domestic abuse—not that I'm saying there is—we don't usually pair up a male detective with a female victim, and Detective Olivia is the only woman we have in here today."

I shake my head, resisting the urge to slap him. "I wasn't abused. Rose sure as hell was, but I wasn't. Is that good enough? I want to be interviewed as soon as possible; I don't care if it's a guy—I just want to get it over with."

He raises his eyebrows and nods. "Very well than. Let me just go get the room ready and we'll get it started."

I huff and finish off my drink as he walks away. Was it really that simple? I could've been done already, if that's the case. I slowly go back into the waiting room, letting myself cool down before doing any interviews. I'm not too nervous—I've already wracked my mind for any questions they might fire at me, as well with the calculated answers I will respond with. I'm going to have to stretch the truth a little, but it's all for Rose's protection. The last thing she needs is to be placed in foster care.

After a few moments, Elliot comes back and leads me deeper into the station. He has me go into a small room with a table and chairs on each side. It's cold and gray; I hope Rose is in a friendlier space. I sit down and he reads me my rights. Then we begin.

Last night, I had spent several hours putting together a decently firm story: in a moment of deep depression, I had gotten married on a whim. He took me back to his hometown and where I met his family. As it turned out, his family was in a religious cult and didn't let me leave. He's slightly slow, so he didn't put a stop to it, despite his kind heart (it irks me to have to portray him like that, but it's the only way I can keep us both out of trouble). I was forbidden from contacting my family as well. During Rose's early childhood, she was molested by Edward's uncle, but I didn't find out until years later. Also, when she was ten, she ran away and was gone for three years. What happened during those years, I'm not sure. I know she was sexually active, most likely by force, because of the pregnancy. Once I found her, I escaped with her, coming here. The rest is history.

The interview proves rather easy. I think I was able to keep my story straight. A few questions caught me up a little, but I pulled out a little bit of my 'hysterical mother' deal and they laid off (however, if I wasn't so focused on telling a big lie, I think I might actually go into a 'hysterical mother' mode). As it turns out, lying is a lot less emotionally draining than telling the truth. I just hope Rose is faring the same way.

They do all of the paperwork bullshit and release me to the waiting room, where I see Rose sitting on the couch. Her face is a little bit puffy, but she doesn't seem unearthly traumatized. I smile at her. "Ready to go?"

She nods and we leave, taking a cab back home. During the ride, I watch Rose. She's so funny, what with how her head snaps around like an excited cat, taking in the city. It'll be fun to actually take her out and show her around. It shouldn't be too much longer; her stitches are healing and she's running on minimal pain medication. I think Central Park will be our next little adventure.

Once we're back at the apartment, Rose promptly faceplants onto the sofa, like a true teenager. I giggle and call in some delivery pizza before sitting down for some good ole' classic dinner-time game shows.

However, as much as I'd like for it to, my brain can't distance itself from that story I created. How much of it was a lie, really? I know Edward wasn't abusive—but his situation might as well have been. I haven't been able to see my family in years. While, yes, I could have, it would've been at Rose's stake, and I'm never going to do that. But now I'm looking back and wondering if I made the right choice. Right now, I feel like I should've taken her and ran when she was an infant, Edward and Andalasia be damned.

Lucky for me, the pizza comes, jolting me from my rather odd thoughts. I hop up, pay the adolescent delivery boy, and take the box into the living room, grabbing some paper plates as I go. I drop the pizza on the coffee table and sit down. Rose sluggishly rolls over, facing our dinner. I pat her head. "You ready for some grub?"

She grimaces. "I'm not really hungry."

I resist sighing. I comb her hair with my fingers. It's starting to get soft again. "Darling, I don't think you're eating enough."

"I'm fine," she says. "I'm just full."

"You only had a few bites of fruit for breakfast. You can't be full."

"Okay. I just don't feel like eating."

"A few bites? Please. Eat a half of a slice and I'll be happy."

She lets out a little huff and pushes herself upright. I pull her out the largest piece in the container. This will probably be the only thing I'll get in her for the night, so I need to make it big. I give it to her and grab my own, just so that I'm not just sitting there watching her eat. But, despite trying to focus on my own food, I can't help but constantly looking over to see how she is doing. She's so nervous and slow with it, like each bite might have poison in it. Is that it? Was she constantly poisoned when she was away? Something's up, and I don't think it has anything to do with body image.

She does as promised, but no more, despite my attempts to get her to take a few more little nibbles. Once I stop begging, we settle, snuggling, to watch a Disney movie. She seems to like those. After a few moments, I ask, "So, was it too bad today? The police?"

"They were really nosy. I didn't like it. I started crying. But I stuck with what you told me."

Her tone suggests that I don't push anything else. We watch the rest of the movie in silence.

After the credits roll and we're both relaxed, I ask her, "How would you feel if I said I was going to go to work tomorrow?"

"That's alright."

"May has to work too, but your Nana and Grandpa would come and hang out."

Her apathy flashes into discomfort for a split second. "That's fine."

"Are you sure? I can go in some other time."

"I'm positive. Can we go to bed? I'm tired."

I nod. Discussion over. I guess I'm going to work tomorrow.

* * *

Please review!


	35. Rose: Confrontation

Hello, all! Sorry this took so long. It's been one crazy week and a half. But, as promised, here's Rose's point of view of the interrogation!

I don't own.

* * *

Mom gets me up way too early—like, really, _way_ too early. I groan. She laughs, but still makes me get up.

Today we're going to be interviewed. Last night, Mom went over it with me. We have to keep Andalasia secret, since New York has no idea that there's an entire other universe. So I'm going to have to lie, which I hate doing, but I have to. She has a rather set story, which I thought was clever. She has to portray some decent people into baddies just to keep us both safe. She says that New York's system works differently than Andalasia, that the police is a lot more involved in the community. I'm okay with that. I have the story memorized, so it should be fine.

We go to the Police Station after a rather wild ride. Those 'taxis' are crazy—I mean insane. And bumpy. They make my stitches hurt. Anyway, the station is a rather gray place, very spooky and depressing. It's like a storm cloud, only in building form. Soon that one Detective, Marissa Olivia, comes and takes me into a back room, without Mom. I don't like that at all, but I don't fight it. We go into a much more colorful room, one that is obviously aimed towards kids, what with the dolls and plushes scattered around. I gently pick up a pink bunny. The detective smiles at me. "I thought you might like this room more. It's a lot more comfortable than our standard room. Would you like anything to eat or drink? We have dough nuts and soda."

I shake my head. I had fruit for breakfast. "I'm fine. Thank you."

She has me sit down on the soft sofa. She pulls up a chair so that she's facing me. She also reads me a script, saying that I'm being recorded, that there will people reviewing what I say; it makes me nervous. After she's finished reading, she asks her first question: "So, how are you feeling? You looked pretty rough last time I saw you."

"I'm fine," I say. "I'm healing."

"That's good. So, you know why you're here, right?"

"I have to tell you what happened to me and my mom. Like, how I ended up in the hospital and stuff."

"Exactly. We just need to know to make sure that no one's hurting you or your mom, and make sure anyone who has cannot hurt anyone else. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah."

"So, Rose, where did you live before you came to New York?"

I bite my lip. The big lie will start. "I…I don't really know. I just…I don't."

"That's okay. Can you describe it to me? What was your house like?"

"We had a big house and a lot of my dad's family lived with us. There was a little town close to us, but me and my mom never got to go. Like, I think I remember going once or twice, but we mainly stayed on the grounds. We had a lot of woods around us though, so I got to explore that. That was fun."

"Why didn't you ever leave the grounds? Were you ever given a reason?"

"I…I have no idea. My dad's family didn't like us leaving. That's about it."

"So, it was his family. What about him? Did he keep you and your mom from leaving?"

"No. He usually tried to get us out, but his family really didn't like that."

"Alright. How did he act around your mom? How is their relationship?"

"It's good, I guess. He's a really gentle guy. I mean, they hug and kiss a lot, so I'm sure they love each other."

"Did anyone in your family ever hit you or your mom?"

"My great aunt liked to slap me across the face when I was impolite. She wasn't very strong, but it still stung." Okay, that was true, but it was DuPont and not my any aunt. Mom never found out.

"Anyone else?"

"Um, no, not really. I can't really remember much. I think I might have hit my head a few too many times."

Her brow furrows. "How did you hit your head?"

I take a deep breath. Mom told me to use my common sense. "I, uh, when I was ten, I accidentally ran away for three years. I hit my head a lot during those times."

The brow is even more furrowed. "How do you 'accidentally' run away?"

I decide to tell a sugar-coated truth. The truth is a lot easier to keep track of. "I went out to explore the woods one day. I got lost and it was getting dark and a group of men let me stay the night. They didn't let me leave after that."

He face relaxes. "Who were they?"

"I don't know—I never found out. They didn't talk to me much."

"Did these men ever hurt you—you can tell me; it's okay."

I take another breath, trying to calm the internal shaking I'm going through. "Y—yeah. They did."

She looks me right in the eyes—hers are very warm, almost motherly. "Rose, I know this is going to be hard, but I need for you to tell me what happened. I need to know all you can think of about them and how they hurt you."

I nod. "There were about fifteen of them. I can't remember much about them—they all started to kinda blend together over time—but…there was two that sticks out. One was a really skinny man with big eyes and nearly bald. He was such…I can't even describe how much I hate him. And then this other one—he was huge—he liked to beat people. Especially me. Um, they all liked to do that. They would often go to the room they had me lock in, call me names, beat me, and then…they, uh…um…"

"Rose, it's alright. You can say it. You're very safe. Take your time if you need to."

"They would hold me down and—they made me into a slut. I was their whore. There's not much else to it." I can feel my sense of stability coming down like a cannon hit it. My eyes are wet.

"They raped you."

"Is that the actual term for it? They said it to me, threatened me with it, but I thought it was slang. It just sounds very simple. I would've thought that the word for it would be a little more complex."

She sighs. "Yeah, that's the term. How many times did they do that to you?"

"One-thousand and forty-two times. I counted the ones I was conscious for."

She shakes her head. "That must have been very hard."

No shit. "Yeah. I mean, I usually blacked out for most of them, but…yeah."

"Now, do you know how women become pregnant?"

"Screwing."

"Yes. When you were at the hospital, you were pregnant. Was it one of theirs? Did you ever have sex with anyone else, but with your permission?"

"No. I've never given my permission for it. The baby was one of theirs—I don't know whose."

"Have you ever been pregnant before?"

I wasn't expecting this question. Only Emerson and that damned Mica knows about that one time. My heart starts beating faster and faster, and my breath becomes unhinged. I haven't even told Mom yet. I can't tell this woman. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

She gets up and sits with me on the couch. She gently rubs my back and tells me, "Rose, Rose, honey, you're alright. Calm down. You're safe. Here, take a few deep breaths with me. In…out…in…out…there we go."

It takes several moments before I actually regain some control over my body. I shake my head as hard as I can and rasp out, "My mom doesn't know! I haven't told her."

"Haven't told her what? I'm not going to tell her anything. I promise."

"I—a long time ago, over a year, I was pregnant. I was going to run away—keep it—but M—one of the men found out and—he beat me until I was bleeding—I—it was just terrible. I—I—I—"

"Shh…It's okay. You're alright. Why don't I get you a drink and we'll take a break while you drink it."

I nod. She fetches a Coca-Cola. I like those. I gently sip at it, nursing it. "So, what's your favorite band?"

"Band? Like, rubber bands?" I ask, feeling incredibly stupid. I feel like I should know this.

"No, music bands. It's usually a few people who write and play music. You never listened to any?"

"I—No. Never really did. Any music we listened to was played by an orchestra."

"Alright. Well, do you have a favorite movie? Were you allowed to watch any movies?"

"No. I didn't even know what a movie was until we came here. But the other day, my aunt and Nana showed me this really awesome one called Chicago. I really liked that."

"You like musicals?"

"Yeah. They're a lot of fun."

The soda is gone. "So, are you ready to keep going? We can wait longer, or we can stop for the day."

"No. Let's keep going. I wanna get this over with."

She doesn't move from the couch, but continues. "So, how did you get away from the men?"

"I, uh, I escaped one day—it was a lucky break—and ran back home. Once I came back, Mom brought me to New York. I think part of it was because I was so sick. I don't think she got permission from Dad's family, though, so they might try to take us back."

"Do you want to go back?"

"Not really," I answer honestly. "I like it here. I haven't felt this good in a long time, even before I left. Plus, I really like my mom's family. They're really nice to me and none of them ever scold me. Mom's happier here too. She smiles and laughs a lot more."

She nods. "Well, you don't need to worry about anyone taking you back. We won't let them. If it's a major threat, we'll put a restraining order on them. That's where they can't get close to you or your mom, or they'll get arrested."

"I—I think that's a good idea."

"What are their names?"

I shake my head, running my hands through my hair. "I don't really know. I know some of their first names, but we never really used last names. I mean, sometimes Mom would call me Rose Tremaine, but that's her family's name, so it has nothing to do with Dad."

She nods again. She's starting to look really tired. "I—I think we actually have enough for now. You've done really well—you really have. We have enough information to use, at least for now."

I smile. "So, no more questions?"

"No more questions." She turns the recorder off. "Okay, now it's just you an me. Let's go back out so that we can find your mom."

She leads me out to the waiting room, but Mom isn't there. Where did she go? A panicked though strikes me; what if she heard about the pregnancy and left? Crap. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

"Marissa!" a voice cries out. "You looking for the Tremaine woman?"

"Yeah. Where'd she go?"

"Christopher took her back for her interview. She was getting antsy."

I let out a held breath and sit down on a sofa.

Detective Marissa asks me, "Can I get you anything? I can bring a movie out here, if you'd like."

"No, thank you. I'm just going to wait until she comes out. You can go back to work now."

She smiles. "Okay, but if you need anything, just tell Ms. Clara over there and she'll get it, or have me get it. Don't be afraid to ask, okay?"

"Okay."

Marissa leaves, letting me relax. I just sit there and let myself fall into a sort of trance, relaxing; I'm exhausted, even though I was only in there for about an hour. I just want for Mom to get out and for us to go home.

It takes about thirty minutes, but Mom finally saunters out, looking slightly irritated. But still she smiles at me. "Ready to go?" she asks. God, her voice is so calming.

We leave and go on another bumpy taxi ride. Finally, though, we get home. I collapse on the ever-so-heavenly couch. Our couch is so much better than the ones down there. I fall asleep.

When I come back to reality, I wake to the strong scent of that pizza stuff Mom likes. She has me sit up. I guess this is for dinner. She strokes my hair. "You ready for some grub?"

The food, like any food as of late, is absolutely nauseating. I just haven't had an appetite since we've came here. I can barely muster to down some fruit everyday. I don't think I could do this pizza stuff. "I'm not really hungry.

She keeps playing with my hair, relaxing me even further. "Darling, I don't think you're eating enough."

"I'm fine. I'm just full," I say, but I know it's not true. I've had hunger pangs frequently, but yet as soon as I'm confronted with anything substantial, it goes away. My stomach doesn't want food. However, I don't want to freak Mom out. She's been freaked out enough.

"You only had a few bites of fruit for breakfast. You can't be full."

"Okay. I just don't feel like eating."

"A few bites? Please. Eat a half of a slice and I'll be happy."

I swallow, hoping to calm down my turning belly. I sit up and Mom hands me a slice. The pizza glares up at me, taunting me, making me feel more ill. However, I slowly down only as much as I promised, and feel completely relieved that it's over. Mom tries to get me to eat more, but I don't think I can take anything else.

Finally, she stops trying to feed me and lets us settle into a nice little movie-watching groove. It's some sort of musical about talking lions. I can go for that. However, our groove is messed up by her asking, "So, was it too bad today? The police?"

I really don't want to talk about this. I'm exhausted, nauseated, and, dammit, I just want to watch the singing lion movie. "They were really nosy. I didn't like it. I started crying. But I stuck with what you told me."

She doesn't say anything else. I hope I didn't accidentally hurt her feelings. But she doesn't look offended, so I guess I'm alright.

The movie is really, really good. It's adorable and the music is fantastic. I think I'm going to ask Mom to the music on that portable sound box-thingy. That would be fun. But, before I can bring it up, she says, quietly, "How would you feel if I said I was going to go to work tomorrow?"

"That's alright," I say, even if I'd rather her stay. I'm still a little thrown off by the police thing.

"May has to work too, but your Nana and Grandpa would come and hang out."

A slight tightness wraps itself around me, squeezing. I still don't know how I feel about him, but I know I don't like him. But I don't really like men. At all. But I still say, "That's fine."

"Are you sure? I can go in some other time."

"I'm positive," I tell her, and then change the subject just to make it where she won't keep asking it over and over again. "Can we go to bed? I'm tired."

She nods. We go to bed. Hallelujah.

* * *

Please review!


	36. Rose: Play

Hello, all! Look at me, actually posting on time! Well, this is a longer chapter, and a rather fluffy one (Rosie needs some fluff after the crap I put her through last chapter). So, I hope you guys enjoy!

Oh, and I still don't own.

* * *

I fight off several nightmares, most of them about me being used like those men used to use me. I can feel their slimy paws on me, groping and fingering and squeezing and strangling. It's like I'm back there, with them, just trying to survive.

But then I'm shaken back to the real world, the comfortable world, where I'm all alone in a big, cozy bed. I shake off the terrible dreams and wonder where my mother is. I hear voices out in the living room. I yawn, do a few stretches, cracking my bones, and then carefully tread into the other room. I peek around the corner; Mom is on the phone, looking slightly worried. My stomach churns.

She turns her head, seeing me, then smiles. "I'll talk to you when you get here. Love you too. Bye." She steps over to me and strokes my hair. "Good morning, darling." She's all dressed up again. I like it when she dresses up. She seems happier.

"Morning," I mumble, still not quite up to carrying on a conversation quite yet.

"That was Grandpa. Your Nana had an emergency—something about how a friend of hers broke her leg or something—so he's coming by himself."

My upset stomach turns into full-blown sickness that I force back down. "Really? Huh."

"I think you'll like him. He's so gentle—he'll probably just watch movies with you all day."

"Huh."

"Are—are you okay with that? I mean, if you're not, that's fine—though he'd never hurt you. I promise that."

I shake my head, trying to pull myself together. "It—it's fine. I'll be fine. He can come."

She smiles, this wide, proud grin that's rather contagious. "Fantastic. You'll just—"

A knock on the door.

Mom rushes to get it, revealing my grandfather. He still looks the same as he did before, only this time he's not as disheveled. He's a graying blond with a rather noticeable nose. Must be where Mom got it from. He gives her a hug and then waves at me.

Mom looks so damned happy to see him. But then she looks at the clock, makes a weird, panicked face, and says, "I—I've really got to go. Rosie," she says, and gives me a tight hug. "If you want me to come home, just call, alright? For any reason. I love you and I'll see you when I get back." She gives me a kiss and leaves. She looks so happy to be rid of me.

My grandfather chuckles. "She's such a workaholic…Even when she was young, she wasn't cut out for the housewife life." His voice is smooth, almost melodic. He's be a good radio-person. He eyes me, grinning. "You look just like her, you know. Same cute cheeks and cheeky expression." But then he turns his head, like a confused dog. "You're really not comfortable with men, are you?"

I shake my head, slightly. I guess he knows about what happened to me.

"You wanna go out? Would that make you feel more comfortable?"

I blink. Out? I've only been 'out' twice since I got here: the hospital incident, and the police incident. "Mom hasn't done that yet."

"Your stitches are pretty well healed, right?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Then I believe she's being a little paranoid with you as of late. I think you'd do really well with a little fresh air. Well…as fresh as New York air gets." He laughs. "Where are your clothes at? Why don't you get dressed; I'll stay here and wait."

I do as he says, grabbing the clothes Mom had gotten me for yesterday. I guess it's okay to wear them twice—they're not dirty or anything. I change into them, brush my hair and teeth, and go back out. "Ready," I say, but it comes out as a murmur. I still don't like this guy very much.

He nods. "Great. You look cute. Come on. I know a nice place we can grab some breakfast at."

I follow him out of the building and onto the streets. As soon as I'm not in an in-closed space with him, everything lightens. I feel safe again. Okay, maybe I like him a little.

We walk(!) to a restaurant in a nearby park. It's peaceful and we sit on the patio, which I really like. We order, and he doesn't pressure me into eating like Mom does. I just get some fruit and a soda. He gets pancakes and coffee.

Once the food is ordered, he lets out a sigh. "You seem confused."

I wasn't aware I did, but he's right. I'm confused about this whole mess. I nod, hesitantly. "Yeah, I kinda am."

He straightens in his seat. "Well, I can try to clear some stuff up. I'm Oskar. Or Grandpa. Or Pop-Pop. Or you could come up with something new for me (I don't mind). You can call me pretty much whatever you like—I'm not picky. I am currently a private tutor after teaching high school and college English for thirty years. And I plan on buying you a bunch of books because I don't have a single grandchild who's a reader and I'd really like to have one that is (but if you aren't, that's fine too. I'm just saying that if you are, I will buy you as many book as you want)."

I grin at his rapid speech patterns. His rambling is kind of funny, to be honest. I nod. "I used to really like reading—though I haven't read anything in years. I'd like to get back at it."

He looks like a toddler on his birthday. "You will. Don't worry. We can go to Barnes and Noble after this, if you'd like."

Our food comes, but our conversation doesn't stop, even as we both eat.

"So, what grade are you in?"

"Grade?"

He closes his eyes, looking more than peeved. "Please tell me you were in school."

"I was taught privately—English, maths, music, and the like."

He relaxes. "Good. I thought I was going to have to have a very long, stern talk with your mother for a minute there. Do you know if she's planning on putting you in school this fall? I mean New York school."

"She hasn't mentioned it. I'd guess so."

"You've been away for three years, correct?"

"Yes."

"You might be a little behind—just a little, I'm sure. You seem very bright. But would you like to make sure? There's a few testing books that I can get—just to figure out what areas you'll want to study over the summer."

He's actually helping me with something trivial—none of that taking-on-the-world crap that Mom's been pulling. It's nice to have the focus on something non-traumatizing for awhile. "Yeah. That'd be great. Thank you."

"No problem. I think it'd be a good project for us both, since I think your mother is wanting to get back to working regularly. She's better when she's busy, otherwise she gets like a bored, little dog: destructive and annoying."

The thought of Mom being some obnoxious yapper makes me laugh.

"You think I'm kidding. I remember I once had to punish her—she decided it was a good idea to sneak out one weekend to go to a party—so I made it where she couldn't do anything for the rest of the weekend. No writing, no doodling, not even doing homework. I remember her, I kid you not, sitting on the floor and repeatedly bashing her head against the wall moaning about how much her life sucked. That was when I broke and made her go mow the lawn (she didn't mind doing that, but at least it got her to stop whining)."

My the end of his anecdote, I'm cackling. I really like this guy.

"You won't bash your head against a chair and drone on about how awful I am, will you?" he says with a completely serious face, but a funny glint in his eyes.

"No. I promise."

He makes a little hand gesture that I've learned means 'I win' or the like. It's just a little fist shake, but he does it with such pride. He's quite amusing.

My fork clangs against my plate, causing me to look down. It's empty. When did that happen? I swear, the plate was full about a minute ago. I somewhat remember picking at it as he was telling the story. I guess I did more than pick at it.

He smiles. "Want more?"

I shake my head. "No, thank you. That's enough."

He puts his dining utensils down on his empty plate and pays the bill. "You ready to go?" he asks.

I look around. To be honest, not really. While I'm excited about the prospect of being able to read again, I like this park. It's comfortable and safe. So, quietly, I ask, "C—can we walk around for awhile?"

"Of course. There's some swings nearby—why don't we head over there?"

I nod and we do. It's an empty, clean playground. He quickly teaches me how to 'pump' the swing, and then sits down on his own with a grunt. "You like nature, I'm taking it?"

"Yeah. We had a garden back when I was little—I guess they still have it—I loved playing in it. I used to hide in it when I didn't want to do something." I didn't really think that last part through. It's probably going to bring up questions, thus ending me and Oskar/Grandpa/Pop-Pop's awesome talking streak.

"Your mom did the same thing when she was in high school. She'd usually go hide up on the roof. For the longest time, she was the only one who was able to get up there—out of the kids, I mean—so that was how she got in her private time. Usually once she was out there for an hour, I'd go up there and we'd talk about whatever was bothering her."

"I can't really imagine that. She's never seemed like a hiding-type of person. She's not a coward."

"No, she's not. She's a very strong person. She's always amazed me. I remember when we got her—she was so pitiful-looking—but within the week she had it pulled together, for the most part. I remember saying to your Nana, 'I've never seen someone adapt so well'. Her entire life was thrown upside down, but she handled it like a pro."

At this point, my eyebrows are so scrunched up, they probably look like an unibrow. "I'm not sure I'm following you. 'When you got her'? What do you mean?"

He winces. "Eh. Your mother was adopted. I thought you knew—she's always been so blunt about it—but I guess she was trying to make things less complicated for you."

I feel a little upset, but not majorly. I've known several people who were adopted—it was part of royal duties to visit orphans and adoptees—and they seemed fine with it. "So…we aren't related? Like, bodily."

"I think you mean 'biologically', but no. We aren't—well, not that I know of. There's a slight theory that me and your mother are distantly related. However, it's most likely wishful thinking, so, for now, I'd say no."

"How'd she end up with you guys then?"

"Her biological mother kicked her out when she was thirteen—nearly fourteen. She was friends with May from an after school program, so once May found out that she was homeless…well, May is May, and dragged her to our place. I mean, once I heard the full story, I was more than glad to take her in—plus we needed another hand around the house. One thing led to another and next thing you know, we're signing the adoption papers. It was probably one of the best decisions I've ever made. You hear a lot of things about adoption when you have biological kids already, so I didn't know what to expect. There's a lot of, 'you can never love them like you love you bio kids'—that's kind of right, because the way I love your mother is completely different than the way I love the rest of them. Like, it was just there with them, but I had to work for it with Nancy. It was harder, but was almost more satisfying because of it. Actually, there isn't an 'almost'. It was more satisfying. Simply."

"Why was she kicked out? She's a good person and is smart and has a job and all that—who would do that?"

"Her biological mother—Sarah's her name, I believe—isn't the nicest person. She wasn't happy with what Nancy was doing—which really wasn't all that bad. She wasn't paying attention in class and was failing a few subjects—just small stuff like that. But she still told Nancy to either shape up or leave. She left. It turned out that what Sarah was doing as far as punishment—slaps hard enough to leave a bruise, not letting her eat for an entire day—it was enough to be called child abuse, so once we threatened to pull the police into it, Sarah left us alone. That was pretty much the last we had to deal with her. I think you mom has tried to get back in contact with her, but nothing has happened, as far as I know."

I rest my head on the cool swing chain, chuckling. "God, our family is dramatic."

"Yep. Though that's about the end of it. We haven't had anything major like that since then (though I think we're in the midst of another upheaval—we didn't even know you existed until a few weeks ago—but it's good upheaval, for sure)."

I sigh and sit up. I think I've had enough talking about this (though I think I'm going to ask Mom about it soon). "Can we go to the bookstore now?"

He smiles, looking as relieved as I feel to be off the subject. "We sure can." We get up and start exiting the park. "So, has your mother bought you any books already? Or are you starting fresh?"

"Um, she bought me a few, but I didn't like them. They were stupid and the only thing the girls wanted was boyfriends and I just…I didn't like them."

"Has she gotten you Harry Potter yet?"

"No. What's that about?"

He stops, dead in his tracks, his mouth open. Then he shakes his head and keeps walking. "You were really living under a rock, weren't you?"

"As far as this place goes, yeah. I don't really know anything."

"Do you know who the first president of the United States was?"

"No…Is it bad that I'm not sure what the United States are? I mean, I've heard it talked about a lot, but it hasn't really been clarified about."

He shakes his head. "We're getting you a very thick history book. And your mother's getting fussed at." He says it playfully. I don't think he's serious about it.

However, I do need to stick up for Mom. "No. It—it wasn't her fault—she couldn't help it—she—"

"Rose," he says, smirking. "I was kidding. The only thing I'm going to fuss at your mom for is getting you those silly teen-romance novels."

Okay, now I know he's not serious with this one.

We walk to a nearby bookstore—it's huge—and he pretty much goes crazy. He picks me out several bags of books, muttering to himself and me the entire time;

"Modern classic…Gotta have that one."

"Oh, this is such a good read…"

"No ones life is complete until they've read this one…"

It's pretty amusing. He also grabs me a bag-full of what he called 'basic studies'. Most of them are on history and culture, but there's also some of the other known basics, like science, math, and all that jazz (I like that expression). I have a feeling that the next few months will be intense, study wise, but I'm kind of excited about it. I've noticed that when I'm focused on good things, I'm not paying attention to bad things, so I think this will be very, very nice.

After we check out (he pays with this little card that somehow holds currency—it's rather fantastic, like many things in this world), he sees a stand that broadcasts: 'Summer Camps And Day-Camps For Kids, Tweens, And Teens'. We walk over to it and he tells me, "What do you think about doing one of these?"

"What are they?"

He quickly explains that I would go to a day camp and do activities with other kids my age.

"I don't really know. I—I haven't really been around many other kids, not in a long time. I don't really know if I'd fit in well enough."

"I think you'd be fine. I'll just grab a few of these brochures and we'll go over them with your mom later, alright?"

He does such and we leave, grabbing a taxi this time. He instructs the driver to go back to the apartment. Once we're riding, he asks me, "Do you think you're okay to be there with me? If you're not, we can stay at a cafe around the corner."

"No, I'll be fine. But…" I swallow hard, suddenly afraid my upcoming request will hurt his feelings. "C—can you not touch me? I just—I don't—I mean—It's not you—It's—"

"Okay. That's okay by me. No offense taken. We'll be in a no-touchy zone." He gives me a thumbs up.

I sort of feel bad for being so hesitant around him. I mean, if Mom trusts him, shouldn't I?

We head up to the apartment and quickly settle, me on the couch and him in the chair, away from me. We both get into the book stash (the first Harry Potter for me, since Oskar/Grandpa/Pop-Pop was excited about it, and some mystery book called, 'The Collective Sherlock Holmes' for him), but I only get a few chapters in before I'm hit by a sudden tiredness, like a cannonball smacking into me, full force. I mark my place, close the book, and set it on the floor. I flip on the TV and turn it to one of the movie channels. I only watch a scene before I'm knocked out.

When I come back around, there's a blanket on me, and someone's holding my feet in their lap. I groggily turn over and see Mom, smirking. "Good morning, Sunshine."

I yawn. "How long have I been sleeping?"

"A few hours. You looked like you needed it. Did you have fun today?"

I look over at my bags of books. "Yeah." I sit up. "He's really nice."

"He's one of the kindest people I've ever met. You ready for dinner?"

I nod, even if I'm not really interested. Mom likes it when I try.

She got take-out—pasta—and fixes us both a plate. She plops down. "So, why don't you tell me about your day?"

I do so, giving her a detailed recollection. To be honest, it's mostly for my benefit. I really enjoyed myself. But, toward the end, I decide to bring up the whole adoption thing. "So, he—Pop-Pop—he told me about something today…well…I just wanted to…you know…um…" My voice is really quiet. I'm not sure what I'm even asking. A confirmation? I don't know.

"About me being adopted? Yeah, he mentioned it to me. I'm not sure why I didn't tell you before—I wasn't hiding it—I guess it just never came up. It's not a big deal to me, so I didn't really think to tell you."

"Oh…so is it something that's okay to talk about? Are you okay with talking about it?"

"Yeah. At one point, when I was in my teens and early twenties, it wasn't, but I went to a psychologist—remember what those are? That's the same kind of thing I want you to go to—and that really helped me kind of come to terms with it."

"How long did it take? I mean—I just can't really imagine it."

"At first, I kind of pushed it down. I didn't think about it. I thought I was over it really quickly. But then I started hitting all of these big things—prom, senior year, graduation—and it started coming back up. Like, I started being really angry all the time and feeling worthless about myself. I mean, I just kind of thought that there was something wrong with me. I remember when I realized it had gotten out of hand. I was in my first year at college and had just had a terrible, terrible day in a terrible, terrible week. Nothing was going right for me. I had failed a few tests, my boyfriend broke up with me, and I had gotten caught with beer in my system. I just felt so horrible and useless…I had climbed up onto the roof of one of the college buildings—I liked to think up there—and I just remember sitting on the edge and wanting to jump. I nearly did—but then I realized what I was about to do. I got down, called Dad, went home, and made an appointment with a therapist as soon as possible."

"You almost attempted suicide?" I ask, shocked. I would've never thought that Mom, my poised, in control Mom, would ever get even close.

"Yeah. I was young and stupid. Fortunately, that was the lowest point. I got some help and within the year I had resolved it enough to function. Past that, it kept just getting better for me. Occasionally it would come back a little—the anger and rejection, not the suicidal part—but it was fleeting, for the most part. Pretty much the only time it lingered was right after you were born. I just—I would hold you and look at you and just think, 'Why would anyone reject their child?'. I still sometimes will think about you and how you're only a little bit younger than I was. I can't imagine ever doing that to you—I don't care what you do. You could kill someone or do drugs or decide to become a hobo—that wouldn't make me kick you out like that (though I'd probably try my hardest to talk you out of it or nag you to death to fix it). In a way, though, it kind of made it a little easier for me to understand. Like, it made it more obvious that it wasn't something wrong with me, it was something wrong with her. Still…it just kind of made me dislike her even more. But I'm happy now with my big, loving family and my angelic little girl and my nice job and—Life is just great. Well, not great, since there's a lot of bad stuff that has happened that shouldn't've, but as far as everything else goes…I'm good now."

I put my plate down, gently crawl over to her, and nuzzle into her, snuggling. "I'm sorry that happened. That's really sad."

"It's alright, darling. Don't worry about me. Like I said, I'm good now."

We stay cuddling for a few minutes, but she breaks the silence by saying, "Oh, Aunt May said, 'hi'. She also said she'd like to bring Polar Bear back soon. He really likes you."

"I'd like that. Maybe me and Pop-Pop can take him to the park with us one day."

"You two going to make that your 'thing'?"

"I think so. He said he's going to help me with my studies. I—I don't know very much about this place. I think I'm really behind."

"After what happened, you're allowed to be behind. I have no doubts that you'll be caught up by the time summer's over."

"You think?"

"Yep, I do. You're gonna be brilliant, baby."

I just hope so.

* * *

Please, review!


	37. Nancy: Play

Here it is! Right on time (for once!). I hope all of you have had a lovely week and enjoy the next chapter!

I don't own.

* * *

I get to go to work today.

_I get to go to work today._

I never quite realized how much I miss it, the activity, the bounce of it. Just that rigid, loose flow that I get into whenever I get into my little work-mindset…it's like no other. I love Rose and I love being around her, but she still sleeps a lot and doesn't give me any trouble. I need a challenge. I need something to do.

I get ready early and wait until my parents get here, watching the news and wondering when I became a workaholic. However, I'm shaken out of my thoughts by the phone blaring. I rush to pick it up so that the ringing doesn't wake up Rose. "Hello?"

"Nancy, good morning," Mom says.

"You guys on your way?" I ask, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Actually—you know my friend Delores?"

"The clingy one you think is a closeted lesbian?"

"No, the other one. The one that used to knit you hats."

"Oh, that Delores!" The Itchy-Hat Delores.

"She fell this morning and broke her ankle. Her husband is out of town and she's asked me to help her. Would it be okay if it's just your father? He's quite excited to spend some time with her."

"I don't know. She's really nervous around men. I mean, I could stay home today if she seems freaked out about it."

"It might be good for her to spend time with him, if she's only a little uncomfortable. If she seems upset, I wouldn't, but I think being around him might decrease her unease. Especially since she'll need to get over it, to an extent, before she gets into school next year. How bad is it? Just a little bit uneasy or close to panic attack?"

"No, no. She's just quieter and restless. It's not severe."

"Okay. I think, if she seems like she's alright with it, you should try to work this out. It'd be good for her."

"Alright. We'll see how she is. Can I talk to him for a minute?"

"Actually, he's already in your area. He is really, really excited. He has a few different plans for some things for them to do."

"I'll call him and we'll go over his plans. So, I'll call you tonight to tell you how it went—well, Dad will too, I'm sure, but—whatever." We offer each other the goodbyes, then hang up. I quickly dial up my dad. He answers cheerfully. "So, Mom said you were making some plans for today?" I ask.

"Yeah, I thought maybe I could do a little sightseeing with her. I have a family membership—I got it so that I could take Anita's kids and Tony's son whenever I have them—and I thought it might be interesting for her."

I sigh. "I don't know. That might be a little too much for her. She's still pretty weak, especially after yesterday. Why don't you two just hang around here? Maybe go somewhere to eat, but I don't think much more than that."

"Oh. Alright. I'll just sit around and tell her stories of what a hellion you were," he says, cheekily.

I laugh. "That's fine. I'm sure she'll enjoy that. Just be careful, okay? She's really uneasy." I feel eyes burning onto my back. I turn and see Rosie watching me from the hallway. I smile at her. "I'll talk to you when you get here."

"Love you."

"Love you too. Bye." I hang up. I step over to her and stroke her hair. "Good morning, darling."

She murmurs some sort of greeting, but it's so cute and quiet that I can't quite make it out.

"That was Grandpa. Your Nana had an emergency—something about how a friend of hers broke her leg or something—so he's coming by himself."

"Really?" she asks, her voice neutral. "Huh."

"I think you'll like him. He's so gentle—he'll probably just watch movies with you all day." Hopefully.

"Huh."

"Are—are you okay with that?" I ask her, kneeling down just a little so that we're on more of the same level (she's just so short). "I mean, if you're not, that's fine—though he'd never hurt you. I promise that."

She shakes her head, making me anxious, but says, "It—it's fine. I'll be fine. He can come."

I know she'd rather not. I can see it. But she's trying to get past that, which just makes me so proud. My mom said this would be good for her…I trust her judgment. "Fantastic," I say, grinning at her. "You'll just—"

He knocks on the door—he's a loud knocker, like May—I quickly get it. The first thing he does is give me a hug—he's a hugger too—and then waves happily at Rose.

I briefly look up at the clock—holy shit! I told them I'd be there ten minutes! I turn to Rose. "I—I've really got to go," I tell her as I give her a hug. "Rosie, if you want me to come home, just call, alright? For any reason. I love you and I'll see you when I get back." I give her a kiss, pat her head, and go out, jogging down the hallway. According to May, as of last night, we have a huge order due tomorrow and all hands will need to be on deck. I can't be any later than I already am.

I run, grab a taxi, and have him step on it, taking me to my shop. I can tell from looking through the window that things are in a state of utter chaos in there, with my workers rushing around like deranged little bees, trying to get everything in order (why is it that my entire crew is made up of chronic procrastinators?). I burst in, and all eyes are on me, watching for an order or question or swear word. "What's going on?" I ask.

Everyone starts answering at once, barking out their idea of the events, or their lack of knowledge. I just roll my eyes and signal May over. She takes a deep breath and tells me, in a rapid voice that could intimidate a chipmunk, "So, there's that order I was telling you about last night, right, and that it's absolutely huge and we called in everyone for overtime, right, but the thing is both Hannie and Jo are out sick today with a stomach bug and Kayla's dad's brother's husband had a heart attack and Sheila is out on maternity leave so we're four people down and the order is due today and we're all trying to get our shit together but Hannie's usually the one to organize these things so without her we're all just trying to figure out what to do but we're just clueless and…help."

I shake my head. My employees are five year olds, I swear to God. I quickly find the description of the order and find out what has been done (not much). I grab a notebook and break it down into steps. Then I make each person their own assignment list with the words, 'CALM THE FUCK DOWN' written in red at the top. It's primitive, but it might be the only way to get things done (though why no one else has used basic project management skills is unknown; it's not that hard. Make a list. Give everyone a part of the list. That simple).

Everyone nods, breathlessly, and goes to their individual tasks. It's still crazy and hectic in here, but at least it's organized chaos. May creeps up to me. "You're insane, you know that? Head Bitch In Charge."

"I missed being the boss," I say. "Now get to work, Tremaine."

She rolls her eyes. "Make me. We're still fifty-fifty in this, so don't get all prissy with me."

I playfully shove her. "Go. I've got to practice for a few minutes—I haven't handled a sewing machine since before Rose was born."

May shakes her head and leaves to get some blazers ready, muttering something about me 'living under a rock'.

I spend the next few hours doing completely menial labor, which feels foreign and oddly satisfying to me. I guess it's because I haven't had to actually work in years. I miss it. I am not meant to be a socialite.

Near the usual lunch time, I call several pizzas in. It'll surprise the crew and, c'mon, who doesn't like pizza? Well, by the time it gets here, everyone is starving and quite excited about free food. Everyone settles with their individual slices (I'm giving myself the liberty of eating it two days in a row since, according to everyone, I'm underweight) and we all talk. Of course, the first question out of anyone is Lindsay with, "So, what's up with ya daughter?"

I grin. "She's spending the day with her grandpa. She's doing really well here."

"What's she like?" Roxie asks, her voice quiet and jittery.

"Probably one of the sweetest teenagers I've ever met."

"She's not kidding," May adds. "I've babysat her before. She doesn't act like a teenager. Quiet as hell and doesn't bother anyone."

"And she popped out of _your_ vagina?" Lindsay shouts, which causes a wide-spread laugh.

"I don't expect it to last. She was quite spunky as a child. I think she's just a little spooked, that's all."

"What about your man? He in the picture?"

"That—That—Is—"

"That's really, really complicated," May interjects, much to my relief. "However, it is of my opinion that he is a grade-A jackass and she should drop him and get a restraining order. But that's just my opinion."

"That no one asked for," I tell her. There's no need in causing that kind of speculation with my employees. They saw me when I had a black eye. They'll put the numbers together and come up with the same false answer my family did.

_But how false is it?_

I shake the question from my head. "So, Lindsey, you pop out any wild, Irish babies yet?"

The rest of the day goes by without event. We finish the order with only twenty minutes to spare and I let everyone go home early. They all worked their tails off today; they deserve it. Once everyone's gone, I poke around to see if they've changed anything. They haven't, not much. I mean, they updated a few things to keep in the times, but I can still find my way around the entire building and recognize nearly everything.

Once I'm finished, I go home too. I'm tired and I want to see my Rose. I've missed her and had a strong urge to call them several times today, but I resisted; I know my dad is taking good care of her and that if there were any problems, he'd call.

I pick up some dinner (pasta) and go to my apartment. I carefully walk in and grin. Dad's sitting in the chair reading Sherlock Holmes, dozing slightly, and Rose is completely knocked out on the couch, curled up with a blanket. Since Dad's only partially asleep, he notices me. But as he's stepping close to me, I see several large Barnes and Noble bags in the corner. We both go into the kitchen so we can talk and I ask, "Did you guys go out? I thought you were going to stay in." I'm a little peeved he did was I told him not to.

"She seemed really nervous around me so I thought maybe getting her out of this cramped apartment might help. I was right, too. As soon as we got out, she relaxed. I wanted us to be in an open space until she was a little more comfortable with me. After we spent a few hours together, she was okay with being here alone."

Okay, now I'm no longer peeved. He had a damn good reason. I tell him, smirking, "So you took her to a bookstore."

"First to the park. We had breakfast there, spent some time on the swings, then went shopping. By the time we got back, which was a little after one, she was exhausted. I meant to get another meal into her, but I couldn't wake her."

"You got a meal into her?"

"Yes. She ate an entire plate of fruit."

"_How_?" I ask, excited and puzzled.

"I distracted her as we ate. She went on autopilot and finished the plate. She seemed surprised herself."

"You're a miracle worker, you know that?" I say, hugging him, laughing quietly.

"I've got a lot more miracles to work out, though. Do you know she doesn't know what the United States is? She's bright, there's no doubt, but seriously? I got her several books for us to study. She seems okay with studying them, so at least there's that."

"She has a rough road ahead of her."

"She can do it. Getting over rough obstacles seems to be in your genetics. Speaking of which, I kind of made a little boo boo today," he says. My stomach turns.

"What?"

"I told her about you being adopted. I didn't know you hadn't told her."

I relax. It could've been a lot worse. "It just never came up. I haven't been hiding it or anything."

"I told her about what happened. She was alright with it, but be ready for some questions."

"Okay. I'll talk to her about it tonight. Did she behave, though?"

"She was an angel. Were you expecting anything different?" he asks, chuckling.

"I don't know. She—she's been so timid since I got her back. I guess—well, I _know_—she's traumatized and nervous about everything, but I just wonder when that's going to break. I know that a lot of times disrupted teenagers act out and she was always so free-spirited as a child and—I just keep expecting her to snap at me, but she hasn't and I wonder if it's healthy that she's been so unemotional and—and—and—" He grabs my head and pulls me into a tight, cozy hug. "I just don't know anymore."

"It's alright," he says. "You'll figure it out."

"But what do you think? Like, is that normal or is that repressed or is she—is she alright? Do you think she's alright?"

"Yeah, as alright as she can be. I mean, it sounds like what she went through was pretty brutal, so I'm not expecting her to walk away without any issues. But she seems to be adjusting well and seems pretty happy…I'm calm down. Are you taking her to a therapist soon?"

"Yeah. I've got her an appointment for Thursday. The detectives down at the station recommended her—the therapist, I mean."

"How is Rose reacting to it? Or have you not told her?"

"She knows she's going to one, just not when. She seemed okay with it."

A high-pitched yelp echos around the apartment, scaring the shit out of me. I wince. Rose is having another nightmare. "She's been doing that so much…"

"She did it earlier. I thought she was in pain."

"That was my idea the first time. God, I can't imagine the things that are running through her head."

"Poor dear," he says. "I've got to get going—Anita called. She needs my babysitting services tonight."

"Alright. But wait—would you and Mom like to come over Saturday for lunch? I really like you guys being around Rose and she really likes being around you. I thought it would be nice."

"I have no plans, and I'm sure your mother does either. Count us in. About noon, maybe?"

"Sounds good to me."

We exchange kisses and hugs and goodbyes before he heads out the door. I sigh and sit down in the living room, where Dad had been. Rose is sleeping like an angel. I nose through her new books—a few workbooks, a shit load of history-slash-culture books, a book of maps—did the man buy out the store or something? I feel like I should repay him; he must have spent a fortune. Well, at least now Rose will be occupied.

I spot the first Harry Potter book setting idly by the couch, on the floor. I haven't read that yet, honestly (though as far as my dad goes, I have). Oh, what the hell. If Rose is reading it, I'll read it. I curl up with it, careful to mark Rose's place.

By the time Rose wakes, I'm half-way through the book and getting bored of it (I'm not too much of a reader—I prefer puzzles and such, plus the words usually give me a headache). She's stirring, so I feel the liberty to sit on the end of the couch with her feet in my lap. She blearily looks up at me. "Good morning, Sunshine," I tell her, smiling. She's so adorable and silly-looking when she first wakes up.

"How long have I been sleeping?" she asks.

"A few hours," I reply, patting her toes. "You looked like you needed it. Did you have fun today?"

She sits up with a slight groan, alerting me. "Yeah. He's really nice."

"He's one of the kindest people I've ever met. You ready for dinner?" She nods and I fix us our plates. "So, why don't you tell me about your day?"

She blabbers on, excitedly. I can tell she had a blast, as boring as her day sounded to me (again, not much of a reader). But then she slows. "So, he—Pop-Pop—he told me about something today…well…I just wanted to…you know…um…" She looks almost pathetically confused and terrified.

I smile at her. "About me being adopted? Yeah, he mentioned it to me. I'm not sure why I didn't tell you before—I wasn't hiding it—I guess it just never came up. It's not a big deal to me, so I didn't really think to tell you." It's the truth.

"Oh," she says, still sounding nervous. "So is it something that's okay to talk about? Are you okay with talking about it?"

I fight back a laugh at the weirdness of the situation. _She's_ asking _me_ if I'm okay with talking about something. "Yeah." I realize that this would be a good opportunity to bring in the idea of a psychologist into the picture, again. "At one point, when I was in my teens and early twenties, it wasn't, but I went to a psychologist—remember what those are? That's the same kind of thing I want you to go to—and that really helped me kind of come to terms with it."

"At first, I kind of pushed it down. I didn't think about it. I thought I was over it really quickly. But then I started hitting all of these big things—prom, senior year, graduation—and it started coming back up. Like, I started being really angry all the time and feeling worthless about myself. I mean, I just kind of thought that there was something wrong with me. I remember when I realized it had gotten out of hand. I was in my first year at college and had just had a terrible, terrible day in a terrible, terrible week. Nothing was going right for me. I had failed a few tests, my boyfriend broke up with me, and I had gotten caught with beer in my system. I just felt so horrible and useless…I had climbed up onto the roof of one of the college buildings—I liked to think up there—and I just remember sitting on the edge and wanting to jump. I nearly did—but then I realized what I was about to do. I got down, called Dad, went home, and made an appointment with a therapist as soon as possible."

Of course, I feel rather bad for admitting it, but I just feel like Rose needs to know that. Plus—I don't know what goes through her head. She could've wanted to jump off this building a hundred times by now. Her aversion to food could be a form of self-starvation. I just don't…I want her to realize that she can go up from here.

"You almost attempted suicide?" Her voice sounds betrayed, but I still feel like I made the right decision.

"Yeah. I was young and stupid. Fortunately, that was the lowest point. I got some help and within the year I had resolved it enough to function. Past that, it kept just getting better for me. Occasionally it would come back a little—the anger and rejection, not the suicidal part—but it was fleeting, for the most part. Pretty much the only time it lingered was right after you were born. I just—I would hold you and look at you and just think, 'Why would anyone reject their child?'. I still sometimes will think about you and how you're only a little bit younger than I was. I can't imagine ever doing that to you—I don't care what you do. You could kill someone or do drugs or decide to become a hobo—that wouldn't make me kick you out like that (though I'd probably try my hardest to talk you out of it or nag you to death to fix it). In a way, though, it kind of made it a little easier for me to understand. Like, it made it more obvious that it wasn't something wrong with me, it was something wrong with her. Still…it just kind of made me dislike her even more. But I'm happy now with my big, loving family and my angelic little girl and my nice job and—Life is just great. Well, not great, since there's a lot of bad stuff that has happened that shouldn't've, but as far as everything else goes…I'm good now."

She puts her _nearly_ _empty_ plate down. Dad's idea works! I hold back an ecstatic jump and let her hug me. "I'm sorry that happened. That's really sad."

Oh, my adorable, empathetic, caring daughter. I wish she'd stop feeling bad for me. It's supposed to be the other way around. "It's alright, darling. Don't worry about me. Like I said, "I'm good now." We cuddle for a few moments. "Oh, Aunt May said, 'hi'. She also said she'd like to bring Polar Bear back soon. He really likes you."

"I'd like that. Maybe me and Pop-Pop can take him to the park with us one day."

"You two going to make that your 'thing'?"

"I think so. He said he's going to help me with my studies. I—I don't know very much about this place. I think I'm really behind."

"After what happened, you're allowed to be behind. I have no doubts that you'll be caught up by the time summer's over."

"You think?"

"Yep, I do. You're gonna be brilliant, baby."

I just know so.

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As always, please review. It makes me so happy when you do.


	38. Rose: Confusion

Hi, guys! Guess who's back this chapter!

Also, I recently did an illustration of Rose, so if you'd ever want to see, it's in my profile.

I don't own!

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I really like what has been dubbed, 'family time'. Of course, this is the first time that the group has all been together since I was in the hospital (that I know of), so I can't say I've had much of it, but what I have had, I really like.

Mom decided to invite my grandparents and aunts over for lunch. They all came (well, not all, since Mom has an insane amount of siblings, but all the ones I actually know about are here, so that's all that matters to me), so we're currently piled into the living room, eating sandwiches because my mother burned the meat. And vegetables. Actually, she pretty much burned everything (the cake is extra crispy). However, it doesn't matter, because we're all sitting around, laughing at Aunt May, who is telling a wild story about the time she and Mom broke into their friend's house, stole all the underwear, and hung it up on the tree that was in the friend's front yard. I really like this story.

However, in the midst of the tragic tale of how May nearly broke her arm falling out of said tree, there's a knock on the door. Mom's eyebrows scrunch up. "I'll get it."

She does so and Aunt May continues her story. But after a few minutes, she comes back in. Something's wrong, I can tell. But she's smiling. "That was just a guy trying to sell shit." Her eyes 'coincidentally' go to the clock. "Holy crap, it's late. You guys don't want to get caught in traffic."

"Nancy, we're in New York," May says, grimacing. "There's traffic all the freaking time."

"And we have a Romeo here, waiting to talk to his blushing Juliette," Aunt Anita says coming back in (when did she leave?) with—Dad!

I can't stop the grin from growing on my face. "What are you doing here?" I ask, excited. Now he's here and we're all together again and that's good.

"Just visiting. I also need to talk to your mom for a few minutes. Privately."

I can take a hint, so I stand, ready to wait outside. However, May grabs my arm. "You're not going anywhere. Neither are we. Your turn, Wifebeater."

Dad's eyes go wide—I've never seen him so shocked. He takes Mom by the wrists, his hands shaking. "Nancy—Nancy! What are they talking about? I—I've never hit you, have I? Nancy, _please_—I've never, right? I—I mean there's been a few times that I can't remember after getting tipsy—But I would never—would I?" His voice is breaking—hell, he's _crying_.

Mom sighs. "No—Edward, calm down. You've never hit me." Her voice is tight, annoyed. She's holding her jaw tensely.

"Then why—"

"Just forget about it!" she snaps. He lets go of her, but doesn't stop sniffling. She takes a deep, shaky breath. "Just—go back there, into the bedroom, so we can talk. And if any of you," she says, waving her hand, gesturing to all of her family. "Want to eavesdrop, you've got another thing coming." And then they both go into the back. Thankfully, I don't hear any screaming.

A sudden ache just envelopes me, like a dark cloak. I ease down onto the floor. Her family seems almost proud of themselves. "They—they've never fought like that."

With those few words, their pride fails and they turn all attention to me. Nana gets down with me. "It's alright, sweetheart. I'm sure they're both very stressed—you know how when you're stressed, you get really, really cranky? They're like that. It's alright."

_You know how when you're spoken to as if you were a child, you get really, really cranky_? That's how I am right now. That's how I want to respond. But I won't. It's not lady-like. I just sit there and can't wait for it to be over, ignoring the slight buzzing in the back of my scull.

They don't stay in the bedroom for very long. They're both recovering from being emotional, their faces red and blotchy. Dad leans down. "Hello, dear."

"Hi. Is everything alright?"

"Yes, of course. Listen, I've got to go now. I'll be back to visit soon." He hugs and kisses me, and then leaves.

Okay, what the hell just happened?

Of course, all eyes are on Mom. She shakes her head. "Can we just ignore what just happened and get back to May's story?"

Everyone agrees (I don't, but I don't speak my opposition to it either; I have a feeling that this is a shared idea among my family). However, May's storytelling isn't as exciting as it was before, with the mood dampened and questions hanging in the air.

It's not long before everyone leaves, which is to my relief. That faint buzz has turned into pain and they're just so loud…I wanted them gone, for once. Now that everyone's gone, I can talk to Mom. I ask her what happened. "Rose, it's nothing. We just—he was updating me about the war. That's all."

"Then why did you yell at him? Is it because of me?"

"No, no, sweetie. It's not. He said the war is pathetic and should be over within a week or so, and that he wants us to go back."

"And you don't want to?" I ask.

"You do? Rosie, we've just—everything's been better here. I mean, I'm not being driven insane by my 'royal duties' and all that 'lady' shit, you're safe for the first time in years, and you seem to love my family. Things are finally getting better for us, and I don't want for it to go away."

"But it's isn't it our duty? We aren't just people. We're royalty. Andalasia needs us."

"I'm a mother before I am a queen. I care more about you than I do some silly country that I wasn't born in."

"But I was born there. And I think it's my job to go back."

"Rose, no. The answer is no. I don't think you're safe there, so—no. That's final. Maybe in a year or so—you know what, when you're eighteen, you can do whatever you like, but until then, you're my child and you're under my roof, so no. Sorry."

My cheeks are burning. How dare she? This is my homeland, my father that we're talking about. I want to scream, but I don't. The ever present stabbing in my head just grows in intensity—holy shit. I'm about to have one of my fits. So, I just shrug and say, my voice low, "I'm going to go lie down." And I do. It only takes a few minutes of snuggling into the pillows before I'm fast asleep.

When I wake, I feel terrible and smell vomit. Crap, I had the fit in my sleep and now I'm going to have to clean it up before—

"Oh! She's conscious—thank God," I hear Mom say, sounding panicked. I slowly look up—any light just makes my headache worse—she's talking on the phone. "Okay, I'm going to hang up so I can comfort her—is the ambulance still on its way? Okay, good. Alright. Thank you. Bye." She turns it off and eases down next to me. "Hey, sweetheart," she whispers softly. "Are you alright?"

I grunt and nod. She starts stroking my arm.

"Stay awake for me, alright? There's some people on their way to take you to the hospital so we can make sure you're alright."

"I—I'm fine," I mumble. "I have these things all the time…"

She looks so surprised and sad. She gently squeezes me. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," I tell her.

She grimaces, as if she knows something I don't. I don't like it.

There's a knock on the door that reveals a bunch of people in blue outfits. One of them, a tiny woman—actually smaller than me—comes up and helps ease me out of bed. Huh. She's small, but strong. She and Mom walk me to the elevator and then down to the first floor—I'm so dizzy I can't stand straight, let alone walk. There's a little wheely bed in the lobby. They let me rest on it. Good. I fall asleep.

When I wake up I'm in a room like the one I was in when I first came to New York. Mom's sitting in a chair pulled up to my bed. She smiles softly at me. "Hello, Sweetie."

My head is still achy, but better than it was. "Why are we here?" I ask. I don't like this place. Mom's bed is so much more comfortable.

"You had this thing called a seizure. We just want to make sure everything's okay. You used to have them when you were a baby—has this ever happened recently? Can you remember?"

I nod. "Yeah. I've always had them. While I was, uh, away, I'd have one every week or so. It's not a big deal."

"Rose—" She shakes her head. "Okay, we'll just tell the doctor that. You might get to go home tonight, than, since you've had them so much before."

Good. I want to go home.

Mom's right. We tell the doctor, a redheaded woman that reminds me of a fairy, that and she shrugged, said it was probably a chronic problem, had us make an appointment with some special doctor or something, and then checked us out (which was a whole ordeal, but Mom handled it). So, we're on our way back to the cozy apartment.

We get there and Mom puts in a movie (I don't want to sleep any more). We curl up on the sofa and Mom asks, "Since when did you start having them? I'm just curious."

"Probably for as long as I can remember. For some reason, I always hid somewhere whenever I'd feel one coming on. I forgot why, but I just did. I didn't get them very much when I was little, maybe one a month, at the most, but once I left, they were really frequent. I once had five in one week."

She takes a soft breath, looks down, looks back up, and then pets my hand. "What happened during that week? Anything especially bad or good?" Her voice is higher than usual. She's scared for the answer. "You can tell me."

It comes back to me clearly. That week—that month—was utter hell. It was when I was pregnant—I had just found out and was starting to plan an escape. I wasn't going to let my child live in that place. But then Mica found out and grabbed me one night, dragging me to my room. He force-fed me this vile liquid and within the hour I started having pains. He started beating me—it was the worst beating I'd ever had with him—and then that was the end of it. I swear, I can still just feel the stabbing in my gut and the blood passing from in between my legs. I take a deep breath. Now is the time—if I want to tell her, I should do it now. I glance at her; she's watching, waiting patiently. She deserves to know. She deserves my honesty. Tears rise in my eyes and I scratch them away.

"If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay. I understand."

God, she's trying so hard. I can tell she wants to know. I can tell she's afraid. I can tell that she'd sit here all night waiting for me to talk.

"No," I rasp. "I—I just—I need—" I need to tell her. "I—I—I was—I don't know—eleven? Twelve? It was—was about a year ago—beginning of spring—and—and I—" Suddenly, I can't breathe—every breath becomes forced and shallow and thin.

"Rose," she says, her voice stronger, sturdier. She takes my hand and give it a firm squeeze. "You need to take a deep breath. It's okay. You're safe. No one's going to hurt you like that, alright? I'm not going to let that happen. If you want to tell me about it, you can, but first you need to calm down."

Much like Detective Olivia, she talks me down from the hyperventilating cliff (though she's a lot better at it than Olivia). Which leads to her holding me and just stroking my back. Finally, I just blurt, "I was pregnant."

She freezes, for just a second, but then goes back to her rhythm. "Okay. Did you miscarry?"

"I was forced to abort it. He—he beat me until there was blood—God, there was a lot of blood. So much blood. And pain. I've never hurt like that—ever. And—And like—I was just so sad after it—I'm not even sure why. Like, I couldn't have taken care of him. I was making plans to run away, but how far can a twelve-year-old and her baby run? I'd never worked, stopped school, and looked terrible. I guess I could've gone into prostitution—I—I was already one, pretty much—but I wouldn't want him around that. But how would I feed him or get clothes or put him through school or—I just—I don't…I just don't understand why I'm still so upset about this. I didn't want him—well, okay, part of me did, but—I should've been relieved."

"I think that the biggest thing was how it was done. That's really, really scary to go through. Cut yourself some slack. That was a vicious thing that happened—you are so strong, you know that? Those bastards tried to knock you down as much as possible, but you're still standing."

"Barely."

"Eh. We've all been there. But if that had happened to me…I don't think I'd have made it out alive."

"I didn't have a choice. I—sometimes I just wanted to end it so much. It would've been so easy. Just hang myself or cut my throat or tie myself to an anchor—but I couldn't. I mean, if I had, you and Dad—what would you two have done? You would need an heir, but, I mean, I nearly killed you when I was born—what would a second child have done to you? That's an added ten years and if you had problems when you were still in the healthy age bracket, what about when you're out of it? You'd die and then the baby would die and then Dad would go nuts and then it'd all go to hell and it would all be my fault just because I couldn't handle life anymore and—"

"Rose," she says, loud enough to silence me. She suddenly looks years older, and sadder. "You—you're a very good person and…I…I'm not even sure how I can respond to that. I'm glad you chose not to end it—that's one of my biggest fears, even now. But you can't take that much responsibility onto yourself like that, alright? You're only a young girl and that's too much for you to take onto yourself. Now, give me a hug because I think we both need one right now."

I obey readily and it's one of those hugs that just turns into a comfortable embrace. We stay like that until the movie's over.

I think I really scared Mom. She just has this distant look in her eyes and it kind of scares me. It's like she's in some sort of battle with herself. A few times, I can see her jaw twitch or her mouth form words, but nothing comes out. We go to bed as soon as the credits roll without exchanging any more 'hard' words. She doesn't move away from me, even as we're falling asleep.

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Please review!


	39. Nancy: Confusion

Hello! So, the last chapter stirred some stuff up. Hopefully, this chapter answers some questions.

I don't own.

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My family is the greatest thing, I swear. They're just so good for me and for Rose. I wouldn't trade them for the world. Even as May is babbling some crazy story about us (and exaggerating it to make her look better), I wouldn't. I feel so at peace with them all, and Rose just loves them—her face lit up today when they walked in. It was one of the greatest things I've ever seen.

So now they're over. It's only a small handful of my group, but they're the only ones Rose really knows; I didn't want to drag over a bunch of strangers. She's so comfortable with them—Mom, Dad, May, and Anita—and it just makes me so happy.

Breaking my bliss is someone knocking on the door. I fight back a growl—who dare disrupt me and my happiness right now? But I still trudge up to get it. My breath hitches in my throat when I see Edward standing there, in the jeans and button-up I had made for him years ago. He smiles brightly. "Nancy!"

I slip out into the hall and close the door—my family doesn't need to meet him yet. "Edward! What are you doing here?" Panic comes up in me. He does not need to be here.

"I came to fetch you and Rose! My love, the war is easy—it should be won by the end of the month—and you two can come home."

I take a deep gulp of air. "Uh…just—just give me a minute, okay? Just stand over there—at the end of the hall—and I'll come get you. I've got to get some people to leave first."

He nods, his eyes terribly confused. Why he didn't actually just think about this a little, I don't know. He should have left a note or something. But that's Edward, I guess. The man has never thought clearly his entire life.

I go back in, trying to look calm and like nothing's wrong at all. Even though I know that if I lose control of this, it could get really bad, really fast. "That was just a guy trying to sell shit," I tell them. I look up at the clock. It's only about one, but I still say, "Holy crap, it's late. You guys don't want to get caught in traffic." Wow. I know that's lame even as it's coming out of my mouth.

May glares at me with her special little Nancy-Glare. "Nancy, we're in New York; there's traffic all the freaking time."

"And we have a Romeo here," Anita says. I look over and my heart dives to my stomach. She's standing in the walkway, holding Edward by the sleeve. "Waiting to talk to his blushing Juliette."

Rose smiles so brightly and it's heartbreaking because she doesn't realize how toxic this is right now. She doesn't know that one wrong move and he's off to jail and she could be put in child services. "What are you doing here?" she asks, her voice going high and young.

"Just visiting," he says, calmly and as serious as I've ever heard him. So _now_ he decides to gain some brains. "I also need to talk to you mom for a few minutes. Privately."

Rose moves to leave, but May catches her, saying, "You're not going anywhere. Neither are me. Your turn, Wifebeater."

I have no idea how Edward is going to deal with this. He's not good about being accused of things, especially things this heinous. He could take it like a gentleman and simply deny it, like I want for him to. Or he could throw a hissy fit, which is what I'm expecting. He can be quite the five-year-old when he's stressed.

But instead he nearly has a mental breakdown, right in front of our daughter. Honestly, I want to slap him. Here he is, blubbering like a baby, in front of Rose, who is being perfectly angelic and controlled despite the fact that she's been held hostage, beaten, raped, and God only knows what. It's terrible when a teenager can handle life better than a full grown adult. And of course he thinks he's actually hit me, but doesn't remember it. I married an idiot child, I swear. So I tell him, "No—Edward, calm down. You've never hit me." It take all of my being not to scream at him, _Now suck it up, deal with it, and move along so I can get back to trying to rehabilitate our daughter!_

"Then why—"

"Just forget about it!" I yell, finally feeling my anger peak. I take a deep breath. Okay, I'm not being much better. I need to control myself. "Just—go back there, into the bedroom, so we can talk." I glare at my family (minus Rose). "And if any of you want to eavesdrop, you've got another thing coming."

I lead him back to my room and he sits down on the bed. "I'm sorry," he says. "I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry."

"That's just it," I tell him. "You've done nothing. I'm here, trying to take care of Rose alone, as a single mom. When I thought you were out fighting in some valiant war, it was one thing. But you come and tell me after nearly a month that it's nothing? That we can go back and pretend like it never happened?"

"I just wanted to make sure that it was safe before I said anything," he says, a hint of frustration glimmering in his eyes.

"You are a king; you could've had someone else do it."

"Nancy, you just…I _am_ a king. My place is with my people."

"But you are a father first. Or at least I hope you are."

"Please understand: I am the only one that can rule the country when it is at war, no matter how small of a war. I am not Rose's only parent. I thought you had it covered—"

"Oh, I do! Trust me on that one. I had it covered—by myself—when she spiked another fever when she got here. I had it covered—by myself—when they told us that she was pregnant. I had it covered—_by myself_—when she had to have emergency surgery to get the baby removed because it was going to kill her otherwise. I had to protect her, comfort her, counsel her—all by myself. Sure, my family's here, but they can't know everything. Not like you can. I could've really used some help around here."

"Well than, you can come back now and I'll give you all the help you desire." His voice is defeated.

"And uproot Rose again? Fuck no. She's just getting settled in and she loves it here. Plus there's no way in hell I'm going to leave my family again."

"What do you want to do than?" He's not meeting my eye. "I can't leave Andalasia."

"We aren't leaving New York."

"So we're just going to stay apart?"

"It's your choice. You can stay there, you can come here—I really don't give a fuck at this point. But don't come and expect me to move Rose back to that God-awful place."

He stands, looking away. "I—I need to head back. I promised I wouldn't be gone long."

His choice hurts more than I thought it would. He's the last person I'd ever guess to abandon us. "Fine," I tell him, quiet and raspy. I quickly wipe away tears.

We both go back outside. I don't say anything in front of Rose—she doesn't need to be pulled into our relationship drama. He leans down and talks to her, but I purposely zone out. It's their conversation, not mine. He hugs her and kisses her, then leaves without even a glance behind his back.

I close my eyes. I don't even want to know how the group is reacting. I just shake my head and ask, "Can we just ignore what just happened and get back to May's story?"

They do and it goes by slowly. I just want for them to leave so I can curl up in bed, turn on some stupid reality show, and drown in some Ben and Jerry's. They finally leave—thank God—but it's not ten minutes before Rose approaches me. "Momma? What's up with you and Dad?"

"Rose, it's nothing," I assure her. "We just—he was updating me about the war. That's all."

Her eyes squint. "Then why did you yell at him? Is it because of me?"

A slight panic whirlwinds inside me. The last thing she needs is to feel like this is her fault. "No, no, sweetie. It's not." I sigh. She's old enough to hear the truth, though. The girl's been fibbed to enough. "He said the war is pathetic and should be over withing a week or so, and that he wants us to go back."

"And you don't want to?" she asks, sounding baffled.

I'm utterly confused. After what happened there and how happy she's been here, I would've thought she'd be upset at the thought that she'd have to go back. "You do?" I ask. "Rosie, we've just—everything's been better here. I mean, I'm not being driven insane by my 'royal duties' and all that 'lady' shit, you're safe for the first time in years, and you seem to love my family. Things are finally getting better for us, and I don't want for it to go away."

"Bus isn't it our duty?" she asks. "We aren't just people. We're royalty. Andalasia needs us."

I look at her and those blue eyes that come straight from her daddy and the patriotic fire burning in her. Once an Andalasian, always an Andalasian. She's too prideful of her own good.

"I'm a mother before I am a queen. I care more about you than I do some silly country that I wasn't born in."

"But I was born there. And I think it's my job to go back."

I feel bad. I know most of it is just what she was conditioned to as a child—pride in country and all that shit. But I still can't give in. "Rose, no," I tell her, gently but firmly. "The answer is no. I don't think you're safe there, so—no. That's final. Maybe in a year or so—you know what, when you're eighteen, you can do whatever you like, but until then, you're my child and you're under my roof, so no. Sorry."

I can see it: a complete rage crackling within her. It's the first show of anger I've seen from her. Part of me is relieved—it's about time that she show a little more emotions—but another side feels simply dreadful. I want to wrap her up and tell her that we'll go visit her Andalasia tomorrow. But I know I can't do that.

She shrugs her shoulders and says, her voice low, rumbling, and quite scary, "I'm going to go lie down." She turns on her heel and stomps off to the bedroom.

Wow. When she's pissed, she gets really creepy. I shake my head. I hope she doesn't use that to her advantage. Ever.

Since she's napping, I feel free to faceplant into the couch, sinking into the cushions. What has this turned into? I remember only a few short years ago, when Rose was little and the three of us were so in love and happy and everything was good.

But then I realize it wasn't. Rose was being molested. My family was searching and mourning for me. The happiness was a mirage, cloaking the terrible reality. The question stands: will I ever go back? I know I'm not going to let Rose, but once she's eighteen, she's allowed to do as she pleases. But what about me? I can't imagine ever living there peacefully—that entire land has just been ruined for me. I don't think I could ever live there. But could my marriage survive such a long distance? Today proved to me that he values Andalasia over me—even over Rose—so I know he's never going to leave. If he never leaves, and I never go back, what's going to happen to us?

A loud wail rings out from the bedroom, shocking me upright. I run back—oh, shit! Rose is on the bed convulsing, saliva and vomit spewing out of her mouth. I run back into the living room, grab my cell, and go back to her, dialing 911 as I do. I climb up with her as the operator answer. "My daughter is having a seizure," I tell them, and then tack on our names and the address.

"Ma'am, can she hit her head or hurt herself in any way?"

"No…no. She—she's on the bed."

"Okay, just make sure she doesn't fall off. Paramedics are on their way."

As quickly as it started, it stops, with her body relaxing. "She stopped." I check the artery in her neck and feel her chest rise. "She still has a good pulse and is breathing."

"That's good. You still need to take her to the hospital, though."

"Of course, of course." She moves and makes a slight moaning noise. Her eyelids trudge open. "Oh! She's conscious—thank God. Okay, I'm going to hang up so I can comfort her—is the ambulance still on its way?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Okay, good. Alright. Thank you. Bye." I click off the phone and fling it onto the nightstand. I lie down so that I'm not hovering over her. "Hey, sweetheart. Are you alright?"

She nods, looking terribly drowsy.

"Stay awake for me, alright?" I ask her. "There's some people on their way to take you to the hospital so we can make sure you're alright."

"I—I'm fine. I have these things all the time…"

Since when? She had them when she was an infant, but…could they have been brought on by stress when she was gone? Could me and Edward fighting have triggered this one? "I'm sorry," I tell her.

"It's not your fault."

_But it is_, I think.

The medics arrive and help me ease Rose down to the lobby. She's so woozy—she looks like she's drunk. They put her up on a gurney and wheel her into the truck. She doesn't last but a few seconds before she passes out again. They tell me that this is normal for a seizure. I want to tell them that there's nothing normal about what just happened. I don't though. But they don't seem too worried about her, which actually settles me some. If she were in any danger, they'd be swarming all around her, working on her.

We get to the hospital and they wheel her into the ER. A nurse takes Rose's vitals, but doesn't speak much. Afterward, a small ginger woman comes in, smiling. She shakes my hand, introduces herself as Dr. Pillsbury, and scans the file that the nurse wrote up. "So, a seizure. Can you tell me what happened? Before, during, and after?"

I go into as much detail as I can, even explaining the fight. I also explain how she had them shortly after birth and up until the time she was about three.

As she examines Rose's extremities, she asks, "Has she had any behavior changes or anything in the last day or so?"

"She was cranky today, but I thought it was just because of me and her dad. In all honesty, could that have triggered it?"

"It could have, if it had stressed her out enough. Though, I wouldn't worry too much about it. It was probably a combination of things."

That doesn't make me feel much better. She asks me to try to wake Rose and I do, but Rose is pretty much out of it. She asks her a few questions, then leaves us alone. Rose quickly dozes back off.

While she's out of it, they take her to get an MRI. I have to wait in the small ER cubical. Once they're done, they fetch me and my wringing hands and put us in a private room. Fortunately, we're not in there for very long before she wakes up again, her eyes much clearer than the first time. "Hello, Sweetie," I tell her.

She gently blinks a few times. "Why are we here?" She sounds disappointed.

"You had this thing called a seizure. We just want to make sure everything's okay." My mind goes back to her previous statement: _I have these all the time_. If she talks about it, we might get out of here sooner. "You used to have them when you were a baby—has this ever happened recently? Can you remember?"

She nods, only a little. "Yeah. I've always had them. While I was…" Her face tightens. "Uh, away, I'd have one every week or so. It's not a big deal."

"Rose," I say. It is a big deal. Loosing consciousness and shaking like that certainly is a big deal. However, I can tell by the look on her face that she really doesn't care. "Okay," I admit. "We'll just tell the doctor that. You might get to go home tonight, than, since you've had them so much before."

It becomes my mission to get her out of here as soon as possible. I call the doctor back in and then tell her what Rose told me. She refers us to a neurologist and starts the release papers, but then of course that causes problems because Rose is apparently on some child abuse watch list so I have to get that sorted out. By the time we're heading out of there, Rose is impatient and my nerves are completely fried.

I retire for the evening with Rose. I put in some cheeky comedy and we ease into our usual spots on the couch. However, my curiosity gets the better of me and I ask, "Since when did you start having them? I'm just curious."

She shrugs, not looking too fazed by the whole ordeal. "Probably for as long as I can remember." She must be remembering wrong. I know I may not have been the most alert mother—her being molested proves that—but I would've known if my child was an epileptic, for God's sake. "For some reason," she adds. "I always hid somewhere whenever I'd feel one coming on. I forgot why, but I just did. I didn't get them very much when I was little, maybe one a month, at the most, but once I left, they were really frequent. I once had five in one week."

That basically confirms the stress idea, which confirms that it was the fight that caused it. But still, a nagging question erupts from me. "What happened during that week? Anything especially good or bad? You can tell me."

Her eyes glaze over, then tear up, which she quickly scratches away. She takes an audible—and shaky—breath.

"If you don't want to talk about it, it's okay. I understand," I tell her. Part of me doesn't even want to know.

"No. I—I just—I need—" she sputters. "I—I—I was—I don't know—eleven? Twelve? It was—was about a year ago—beginning of spring—and—and I—" She gasps between each word, panicking. Is this a full-blown panic attack? Flash back? I'm not sure.

I hold her hand as firmly as I can. "Rose, you need to take a deep breath. It's okay. You're safe. No one's gonna hurt you like that, alright? I'm not going to let that happen. If you want to tell me about it, you can, but first you need to calm down."

It takes a solid twenty minutes, but I get her to relax, letting her curl up against me. I rub her back and give up on the idea of knowing what happened, that is until she mutters, "I was pregnant."

I have to mentally rehash that. Pregnant. With child. A rape baby. At eleven or twelve. Huh. That's really bad. But what happened to the infant? "Okay," I tell her, trying not to sound too freaked out. "Did you miscarry?" I think she did. Isn't that what most preteen pregnancies do?

"I was forced to abort it." Oh, _God_. "He—he beat me until there was blood—God, there was a lot of blood. So much blood. And pain. I've never hurt like that—ever. And—And like—I was just so sad after it—I'm not even sure why. Like, I couldn't have taken care of him. I was making plans to run away, but how far can a twelve-year-old and her baby run? I'd never worked, stopped school, and looked terrible. I guess I could've gone into prostitution—I—I was already one, pretty much—but I wouldn't want him around that. But how would I feed him or get clothes or put him through school or—I just—I don't…I just don't understand why I'm still so upset about this. I didn't want him—well, okay, part of me did, but—I should've been relieved."

She just sounds so confused and hurt and young. I can tell that she's trying her best. Goddamn, she's trying. I kiss the top of her head. "I think that the biggest thing was how it was done. That's really, really scary to go through. Cut yourself some slack," I tell her, going into my pep-talk mode. "That was a vicious thing that happened—you are so strong, you know that? Those bastards tried to knock you down as much as possible, but you're still standing."

"Barely," she whispers.

"Eh. We've all been there. But if that had happened to me…I don't think I'd have made it out alive." And I say that honestly. Even now, as a well-adjusted adult, I don't think I would've been able to deal with it.

"I didn't have a choice. I—sometimes I just wanted to end it so much. It would've been so easy. Just hang myself or cut my throat or tie myself to an anchor—but I couldn't. I mean, if I had, you and Dad—what would you two have done? You would need an heir, but, I mean, I nearly killed you when I was born—what would a second child have done to you? That's an added ten years and if you had problems when you were still in the healthy age bracket, what about when you're out of it? You'd die and then the baby would die and then Dad would go nuts and then it'd all go to hell and it would all be my fault just because I couldn't handle life anymore and—"

"Rose," I tell her, trying to settle her down just so I have a few minutes to process it. She saved herself, which is good, but it wasn't because of self-preservation or a will to live—she lost that a long time ago. She was doing it for me, and for Edward, and suddenly I realize that I'm being selfish. _I_ don't want to go back to Andalasia. _I'm_ mad because Edward isn't helping me. _I'm_ having just as much issues as she is. But here she is, in all of her traumatized glory, but has admitted that her hell has been in an effort to save us. That's not right. She's too young to handle that. "You—you're a very good person and…I…I'm not even sure how I can respond to that. I'm glad you chose not to end it—that's one of my biggest fears, even now. But you can't take that much responsibility onto yourself like that, alright? You're only a young girl and that's too much for you to take onto yourself. Now, give me a hug because I think we both need one right now."

She grips onto me tightly, but we don't let go. We're comfortable and safe and happy like this. But we don't talk anymore. She's exhausted and I'm just swamped with this new information. Instead, we just go to bed and snuggle up together. But I can't sleep with all of the thoughts running through my head. Whoever had her was one sick son of a bitch. Who would beat a child so mercilessly after something like that? Was it his spawn? Even if it was, what's the use in torturing her for three years? Of course, she is the princess, and I could see someone kidnapping her and threatening to hurt her if some ransom isn't paid off, but there was no ransom letter, no taunt, nothing.

Except for that boy on her birthday.

That's the missing puzzle piece. I know it. There's something in that event that will reveal some new breaking information. I've got to analyze it, like the detectives do.

First of all, the boy could've been working for whoever had captured Rose. But what good would lying to us about her 'death' do? We didn't loose any money, or jewels. Our spirits were crushed, but—

Our spirits were crushed.

Our defenses were weak.

We were ripe for an attack.

That's the only thing that makes sense. The man had captured Rose and held her hostage for years to break down our morale—that's also how she knew to get us out of the attack!—and then sent the boy in to completely break us down, all while still having her as an emergency insurance. So all this hell Rose has went through has been to get at me and Edward. So it's our fault. Goddammit.

Before I get to the part where I start crying from what I had accidentally caused, I switch my mind back to the scene. I want to figure out as much as possible about it and find a way to get back at that bastard for doing this to my Rosie. I need to find out who he is, for one thing. Rose might know, but she surely isn't telling. I don't know why, but she doesn't want to, so I won't ask. So my only link is the boy.

He was young, that I know. Not a full man yet, but not a child either. He was tiny though. And sounded unsure of what he was doing. I can remember hearing the hesitance in his voice. Perhaps it was just a young man who was having to do some not-so-nice things to support his family? I hope something like that is the cause. People that young shouldn't be working for men like that bastard.

Now I feel slightly worse, remembering that I shot the boy. I think—I hit him on his upper left arm, right? I could search that way. It'd be healing up by now, but there'd still be a scar.

Oh, shit.

I ease up and gently flip the light on, successfully trying not to disturb Rose. I look down at her—and the scar—from a bullet wound—on her upper left arm.

She and the boy were about the same height and stature.

Shit.

Shitshitshitshitshitshitshit.

I get up and turn the light off without waking her and quickly move to the living room. Oh, God, I'm the one that shot her. I fucking _shot_ her. God, I'm such a fuck up. What mother shoots her own kid? God, I'm a piece of shit. She was right there, but I didn't realize it. Goddammit. If I had just realized it, I could've scooped her up into my arms and crooned her and everything would've been alright. She wouldn't've had the wound and the infections and had to go to the hospital…but then we wouldn't have found out about the ectopic pregnancy and she would've likely died from internal bleeding, since that's about the course in Andalasia. So, it worked out for the better, but I still fucking shot her! She has to be having bad dreams from that. I'm the one she's supposed to be able to trust, but I hurt her like that—God, I am so fucked.

So, I do what I usually do when I'm completely and utterly fucked: call May. Of course, she's still awake, since it's only about midnight, but she doesn't miss her opportunity to bitch at me. However, once I spill as much as I can without mentioning Andalasia (which is a lot. I was able to squeeze in the fact that I fucking shot her), she just says, "Since when did your life get so screwed up?"

"I—I don't know. God, I'm a terrible mother. Maybe she should be taken from me, since I obviously don't know how to care for her. Maybe she should live with Anita or something."

"No, you don't mean that. It was an honest mistake. I mean, you didn't know it was her, right?"

"Of course I didn't! I wouldn't have done that if I would have known. I might have hugged her to death, but I wouldn't have shot her. God…when did life start sucking so bad?"

"You'll get through it. Do you need for me to come over?"

"No. I think I'm okay now. I just felt like I needed to talk to someone."

"Alright. Will you be coming into work tomorrow?"

"No. I'm going to spend the day with Rose. I just don't feel like leaving her right now."

"How's she handled knowing that you shot her? Did she know before?"

"She's known…God, she's known this entire time and she didn't tell me. She's been sparing me so much. I can't even imagine what else she's hiding for fear that it will upset me."

"I'm sure you'll find out everything soon enough. Though I think therapy might be a very good investment."

"I have an appointment for Tuesday and she has an appointment for Thursday. They were the soonest I could get in with the names the detectives gave me. She—Detective Olivia—said that these two were some of the best in the city."

"Sounds like you'll need it. Jeez. Your life has kind of sucked. Like, this is serious suckage."

"I could be worse." I sigh. "Listen, I'm gonna go back to bed. I don't want her waking up without me there."

"Okay. Say hi to the little rugrat for me. Goodnight, Nancers."

"Goodnight, May-May."

"Don't call m—"

I hang up on her and head back to bed.

* * *

Please review!


	40. Nancy: Plans

So, here's a shiny new chapter!

I don't own.

* * *

I'm back in the castle, in Andalasia, though my features are that of New York's. So are Edward's. There's a figure in front of us, cloaked in black and shadows, running from us. An anger, deep-rooted and uncontrollable, takes over me and I raise the pistol in my hand. I shoot and I shoot and I shoot, blood going everywhere and the figure dropping to the floor. I leap over towards it, my hands going around its neck. The hood falls back, revealing Rose, her skin pale, cheeks gaunt, and bullet holes peppered over her face. My anger turns into just as strong horror, but I can't release my grip on her neck. She looks up at me with those eyes so forgiving and trusting and wheezes, "I—I'm sorry, Momma. I'm—I'm so sorry." She hiccups and then stops. Everything stops. Her breathing, her heartbeat, her life. She's dead.

I jolt up, my hands shaking, and immediately look to my right. Rose is there, very much alive, and watching me, fearful. God, I never want for her to fear me. "Momma?" she says, sounding exactly like she did before. "Are you okay?"

I reach over and pull her close. "Yeah. I am. I just had a really bad nightmare." Holding her, and her warmth, settles me a little. In the hug, I discretely check her pulse, just to bring me comfort.

"It—it must of been. I thought you were having one of those fits like I had."

"No, darling. It was just a really bad dream. I'm fine."

We stay cuddling for awhile before I look over at the clock. It's probably time for me to figure out a late breakfast and start getting ready for my therapy appointment. We both head into the kitchen where she lazes about as I make some instant pancakes that I pray that I don't burn. "So," I tell her as I pour the batter in the pan. "You excited about hanging out with your Pop-Pop today?"

She nods, smiling. "He said we're gonna start the lessons today, but he said he'll break it up so that we can do fun stuff too."

The fact that they're starting to have a good relationship just makes me happy. "Yeah, don't let him work you too hard, because he can push a person to their limits. I remember when I was in high school, he'd push the living hell out of me. I'm glad he did though. If it weren't for that push, I probably wouldn't have ended up going to college."

"Am I going to college?" she asks.

I stop. That's a good question. "It depends. I hope so, since it will give you a good back-up in case you have to stay here, in New York, in your adult life. There's a lot of jobs that you can only get if you go to college, plus it's just a good thing to do."

"How many colleges are there?"

"Holy crap—thousands. There are a bunch of them, really, all around the world. Though, most of the really good ones, like Harvard, Yale, Berkley, are up here in the north-east."

"How big is New York anyway? Is it bigger than Andalasia?"

I hold back a snort. "No, definitely not. We're in New York City, which is pretty big—maybe the size of Basilium?" I say, referring to Andalasia's capitol (which I've always thought sounded like some sort of mineral). "But New York City is in New York state, which is a lot larger. I'll have to get you a map—though your grandpa might've gotten you one already. Beyond that, New York state is in the United States of America, which is in North America, which is…on Earth, I guess."

"So there's more to this place? Like, a lot more?" Her voice rises in pitch. I can hear the excitement and see her eyes twinkling, which helps wipe that horrid dream from memory.

"Oh, yes. We'll have to go travel every now and then. There's some pretty cool places and things to see."

"Awesome."

We wrap up the conversation and eat our (burnt) pancakes before I get ready. Dad shows up fifteen minutes early, seemingly as eager as she is, so I go ahead and leave; they look like they want to get started with their lesson.

I stop by the studio for a bit. Within a few moments of me being there, May slyly mumbles to me, "How's things since that little revelation?"

I shrug. "She has no idea I know. Though I had a wicked nightmare last night and apparently thrashed in my sleep. I really startled her."

"You've always been a thrasher. One kicked me in the shin—left one hell of a bruise too."

"May!"

"I'm just saying."

I shake my head and work for the two hours I have before I need to show up to the appointment, then leave, going to a nice building near Central Park. It's on the third floor and has a cozy atmosphere. Rose will be going to this practice too, but I'm seeing a some general guy, while she's seeing a woman who specializes in traumatized teenagers. I wait in a brown leather couch until I'm called back.

The man they sent me to is Dr. Lawrence. When I go into his room with his plush chairs and psychology books, I'm taken aback by how un-psychologist-like he looks. For one, he has one hell of a build and some of the messiest, dark curls I've ever seen. Big and tall and standing a solid head above me when he stands to shake my hand and introduce himself. "Hello, Ms. Tremaine, correct?"

I nod. "Yes. Dr. Lawrence?"

"Right you are. Make yourself at home."

I ease down on yet another leather couch, feeling a little uneasy. It's going to be a bit hard to spill my guts to someone who looks like he could be some kind of Greek god.

He pulls out a notepad and explains to me that he'll be writing down some things during our meetings, as well as going over the privacy contracts and such. It takes nearly the entire session to get through the legal bullshit. Finally, though, he asks, "So, what led you to therapy, Ms. Tremaine?"

"Nancy, please. And, uh, I guess trauma? I don't know. My daughter—she's thirteen now—she's been through so much shit that I just want to make sure I'm not going crazy so that I can support her the way she deserves to be supported."

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I married a guy in a cult and then my daughter was molested and then she ran away for three years and…it's been rough." Images from the nightmare flash through my mind.

"So are you now out of the cult? Do you need some shelter recommendations?" His gaze is intense, filled with urgency.

I smile as much as I can. "No, thanks. We're out of it, for the most part. My husband still visits, but it's just him and not his insane relatives."

"Alright. So, your daughter was missing for three years?"

"Right. She left when she was ten and came back about a month ago. I found out about her abuse while she was gone, so once she came back, I high-tailed it here, since this is where I'm from and where my family lives."

"That was a good move. So, you're both out of danger, correct?"

"Yeah, I hope so. I mean, I don't think either of us could take much more shit."

"How do you think you're both reacting? I mean, in your opinion."

"She's been a saint. She's been patient and calm and cooperative—I—I keep expecting for it to cave in and for her to start acting out, but it really hasn't happened. She's eager to adjust and go to school here and she just adores my family and…she's been perfect."

"And you?"

"I've…I don't know. I'm trying and I haven't really had any breakdowns in front of her, but I think I could be doing better, you know? What I experienced is a lot lighter than what she did, but I'm reacting almost as much as she is—oh, what am I saying—I'm reacting more than she is. I just feel kind of bad that she's being so strong, but I'm…not."

"Well—"

The little clock timing us goes off.

He rolls his eyes. "Forget that. I generally think of that thing as a suggestion, not a rule. Anyway, I was just about to tell you that it's not about strength, it's personality, coping style, and environment. It might actually be good for her to see you a little upset. It would show her that showing emotions is a good thing."

"Alright. So…what appointments do you have in a week?"

I schedule my next meeting with him and head back home, picking up Chinese on the way. I enter my apartment and see my father and my daughter both forehead-deep in books, with even more volumes scattered around and a large world map strewn out on the floor. They both look up and grin brightly. "Hi, Mom!" Rose chirps, her voice sounding tired, yet unbelievable excited at the same time.

"You two look like you had fun today."

"Yeah, we did all sorts of stuff. Did you know that you can call people—like on the phone—but you have a video camera so you can still see them through the screen? It's incredible! We talked to Aunt May and she let me see Polar Bear. It was really cool."

Those blue eyes are so sparkly and so enthusiastic—she reminds me of Edward and how he looks when something strikes his interest and how purely eager he gets. I suddenly feel guilty for snapping at him, but I shrug it off and ask, "So, did you two actually do anything you had planned?"

"Oh, yes," Dad says, tidying up. "She's awesome at English and arithmetic. We've just got to work on a little of the other stuff and she'll be ready for the eighth grade by the time August rolls around."

I smile. "Excellent."

He packs up his stuff, tells us both goodbye, and leaves. Of course, as soon as he's gone, Rose puts up her book, sighs, and says, sounding exhausted, "I think I'm just going to watch TV now."

I chuckle at her and make our plates. To distract her as she eats in the hope that she gets enough, I delve into the story of how May and I once helped steal a rival high school's statue, which ended up somehow falling on me and giving me a concussion. She looks worried at that part, but I just shrug and tell her, "I think I deserved it."

"No one deserves to be hurt. Well, except, like, baby murderers or these people that Pop-Pop was telling me about—they crashed planes—which are really neat, with flying humans and all—but they crashed these planes into these two buildings—I forgot the name—"

"The World Trade Center."

"Oh, you'd heard this story."

"Honey, I saw it outside my window. Most people up here know the story though. Actually, I'd be willing to say everyone over the age of nine knows that story."

"Okay. Anyway…How was your therapy?"

"It was good. He's really nice."

"Will I be seeing the same guy or…?" Her face tightens.

"No. It's the same place, but you're seeing a lady that only works with teenagers."

She relaxes. "Okay."

Our night continues without incident and we hit the sack. She drops into dreamland almost immediately, but I'm not so lucky. Part of me is afraid of another nightmare, but another part of me can't shake how Edward-like she was earlier. It hit me in a weird way. I'm still upset at him for even suggesting we go back—that's not going to change anytime soon—but it really just struck me how much I miss him. Perhaps I'm being too hard on him. I know he's stressed too, but I can't help but wish he'd forget about that stupid country and help his family instead. But I do understand, on a logical level, why he's doing what he's doing. He takes his role very seriously. I get that. I just wish that would change.

I just wish he was here.

He'd make this so much better. There's no person that can make me happy like he makes me happy. He knows how to comfort me, how to make me laugh, how to make me smile, but also when not to. Other than the occasional slip up, he gets me. I just know that if I had him fighting for normalcy with me, I might not be so damned over my head. I might not feel like I'm loosing it. I want someone to hand off the baton to—isn't that his job as much as being king? We're partners, married for life, and I just want him next to me on this one.

I might have to visit him soon, to calmly discuss what's going on without the added pressure of my family being in the next room. We have to work something out, for all of our sanities.

Once I fall asleep, I'm not faced with horrid images of Rose or flashbacks or anything like that. To put it plainly, I have a sex dream of Edward. It's nothing special as far as sex dreams go—a simple wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am sort of thing—but afterward, I'm nestled on his chest, both of us covered in a sweet sweat and gently gasping, and I feel more at peace than I have in years. It's a dream, but it feels so real and so nice and makes that little ache of missing him so much worse.

I dream no more that night.

* * *

Please review! It really makes my day (or night!).


	41. Rose: Plans

I still don't own!

* * *

I awake to a sharp kick to my shin.

I quickly look to my left. Mom is thrashing, like I do when I have my fits, and her face is contorted, her mouth trying to form words but failing to. She cries out—oh, crap, oh, crap, oh, crap—I reach out to touch her—to calm her maybe?—but she just yelps at the contact and pulls away. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry—Oh, no—Please—"

But she stops, her entire body heaving into a limp posture. I don't move for fear it will hurt her or trigger another fit. Did I give them to her? I wait a second before reaching over, to check her pulse like I see on TV, but before I'm even inches away from her, she jerks upright, her eyes open and wild. She looks at me—it's like she's demented—and I ask, "Momma? Are you okay?"

She eases and hugs me. "Yeah. I am. I just had a really bad nightmare."

I sigh, relieved. It wasn't a fit, so that's good, but how terrible was it to be thrashing like that? I squeeze her a little tighter and say, "It—it must of been. I thought you were having one of those fits like I had."

"No, darling. It was just a really bad dream. I'm fine."

I hope so. I know that when I've had bad dreams, I want nothing more than a nice, long cuddle, so I don't protest when we stay like that for awhile. However, I hear her stomach growling, so she gets us up for breakfast (which I know is going to turn out horridly, since the woman can't cook, but I humor her. Maybe it will be a miracle). As she's fixing it, she asks me, "So, you excited about hanging out with your Pop-Pop today?"

Of course I am. I love it when I get to hang out with him—he doesn't ask very many questions and doesn't tip-toe around me much. "He said we're gonna start the lessons today, but he said he'll break it up so that we can do fun stuff too."

"Yeah, don't let him work you too hard, because he can push a person to their limits. I remember when I was in high school, he'd push the living hell out of me. I'm glad he did though. If it weren't for that push, I probably wouldn't have ended up going to college."

College. It's an odd topic I hear thrown around a lot. We have them in Andalasia, but there's not many, and they're only for doctors, so I have no desire to go to one, since I'm going to be queen someday. But I'm pretty sure they're for everyone here, not just medical men. So, I ask, "Am I going to college?"

She puckers out her lips like she does when she's trying to answer a trivial question. "It depends," she replies. "I hope so, since it will give you a good back-up in case you have to stay here, in New York, in your adult life. There's a lot of jobs that you can only get if you go to college, plus it's just a good thing to do."

In Andalasia, we have about fifteen. This sounds like it's on a lot larger of a scale than that though. "How many colleges are there?"

She blows air out of her cheeks in a huff. "Holy crap—thousands. There are a bunch of them, really, all around the world. Though, most of the really good ones, like Harvard, Yale, Berkley, are up here in the north-east."

"How big is New York anyway? Is it bigger than Andalasia?"

"No, definitely not. We're in New York City, which is pretty big—maybe the size of Basilium?" I say, referring to Andalasia's capitol (which I've always thought sounded like some sort of mineral). "But New York City is in New York state, which is a lot larger. I'll have to get you a map—though your grandpa might've gotten you one already. Beyond that, New York state is in the United States of America, which is in North America, which is…on Earth, I guess."

"So, there's more to this place? Like, a lot more?" Wait—this is only the size of Basilium? How big is it? Is it all as cool as New York City? I mean, Andalasia is my country, but this place is just fantastic—and I guess I'm as much of a New Yorker as I am an Andalasian.

"Oh, yes. We'll have to go travel every now and then. There's some pretty cool places and things to see."

"Awesome." I'd like that.

As predicted, she burns the pancakes, so I don't have to worry too much about forcing myself to eat them, which is nice. Pop-Pop comes early, so she leaves early, giving me a hug and a kiss before walking out the door.

Pop-Pop smiles at me. "So, kiddo, would you like to go get a little fresh air again?"

I nod and rush back into the bedroom to put on some of my clothes. We leave at once, taking some of our workbooks and a few pencils with us. We go back to the park, where we settle at a picnic table. "So, Rosie, would you like to go ahead and get started on the lesson, or do you want to wait a little while."

I shake my head. I'm ready to go.

However, once I take four different types of tests in which I don't understand eighty-percent of it, I'm ready to burn those damn books. Just set fire to them. Boom.

He looks at me, smiling tenderly. "Ready to stop?"

"Yeah…I think we've figured it out."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep. I'm pretty stupid."

He shakes his head. "You're not. You were put in a bad situation. You didn't have a chance to learn any of this stuff, so how can you expect to be able to do it?"

"I don't know. I just…blah."

He chuckles. "Don't worry. You'll get there. Anyway, I wanted to ask you about that summer day camp idea. Is there anything you want to do?"

"I dunno. I mean, there's not really anything I can think of. I'd be okay with just doing this for awhile."

"I think you'd have fun—make some friends and do some cool stuff."

"I—I think I'm fine." The idea of other kids—New York kids—scares me.

He shrugs and looks up at the sky. "I think we better head back. I think it's going to rain soon."

I agree and we walk back to the apartment. He settles in the chair, while I take the floor. He pulls one of those black things out of his bag—a laptop, I think. "What're you doing?" I ask.

"I've just got to check my email. A friend of mine is supposed to send me some pictures from his trip to Alaska."

"What's email?"

He pokes his head around and blinks. "You don't know what email is?"

I shake my head.

He sighs and gets down in the floor with me, grunting as he does so. The screen glows at me. "It's like regular mail, but it's over the computer and it's usually instant. See? Here's the pictures from Alaska."

He shows me several images of some people amid a green wilderness. "Where's this at? Alaska, I mean."

"Way out north-west from here. It's on the other side of the country. There's a map in the Barnes and Noble bag over there—if you want to see it, you can pull it out."

I do so, rolling out the large map across the hardwood. I quickly locate New York, and then Alaska. Huh. His friend is a long way from home.

Suddenly, a loud PING! rings out from the laptop, startling us both. He rolls his eyes. "May…Hi, darling."

"Hi, Dad!" I hear her chirp from the speakers. Wait…what? The laptop is a cell phone? "What're you up to?"

"I'm with Rose today. Rosie, you want to say hi?"

I quickly crawl over and see May on the screen, grinning. Whoa. She waves. "Hey, Rose-Rose!"

"H—Hi," I tell her back. She can hear me, right?"

The screen—or at least the little box May seems to be occupying, goes white and I hear a, "Po!"

I laugh and the aforementioned dog turns his head, revealing his twinkling dark eyes. Aunt May pushes him over, so that he's still on there, but not taking up the entire view. "Po misses you, obviously."

"You could bring him over one day, if you wanted to," I say, hoping she'd take the hint. I enjoy Polar Bear. He's cute.

"I'll have to. He loves visiting people. So, what've you two been up to today?"

Pop-Pop goes into detail about the lessons and how I'm doing well, which I don't agree with and don't really feel like I deserve. As it turns out, May called because she wanted to know if she could come over for dinner, which Pop-Pop agreed to. She said, kind of sadly, "I just kind of want some of Mom's cooking right about now." I don't know what was going on with her.

After the call, we simply just hang out and read our books. He's on another book, '9/11, Just The Facts'. It has the New York skyline on the cover, with an extra two buildings. I ask him about it and he just sighs. "You don't know about The World Trade Center?"

"No…I don't know much about anything."

"Basically, these complete…jerks, for lack of a cleaner word, decided to hijack a few planes and dive them into these two buildings, called The World Trade Center."

"What's a plane?"

"Think of it as a huge, flying car."

"A _flying_ car?"

"Yes. It's not as cool as it sounds. I hate flying, but your Nana just loves it."

"Ah." I leave it be, feeling an edge on his voice. I turn my attention back to my Harry Potter and read silently until Mom comes home.

It's not long before she does, walking in the apartment, looking a bit tired. I spring up and say, "Hi, Mom."

She looks around at the room, grinning. "You two look like you had fun today."

I take a breath and get ready to play up my excitement; she doesn't need to know that I'm really tired and a little pissed at myself and ready to curl up and vedge. "Yeah," I say. "We did all sorts of stuff. Did you know that you can call people—like on the phone—but you have a video camera so you can still see them through the screen? It's incredible! We talked to Aunt May and she let me see Polar Bear. It was really cool."

"So, did you two actually do anything you had planned?"

"Oh, yes," Pop-Pop says, now standing and picking up his books. "She's awesome at English and arithmetic. We've just got to work on a little of the other stuff and she'll be ready for the eighth grade by the time August rolls around." He's a good liar. I'm not good at anything.

But it makes Mom look so pleased. "Excellent."

He finally leaves. I like him and all, but I really just want to hang around and not feel guilty for not working. Though it's clear how much I need to work on things. But, still, I'm tired, so I put my Harry Potter up and tell Mom, "I think I'm just going to watch TV now."

The rest of the evening goes by without anything memorable. I fall into a restless sleep.

* * *

Please review!


	42. Nancy: Cut

I don't own.

* * *

The next day, I, once again, burnt the pancakes.

I think it amuses Rose—I really do. She'll look up at me, a twinkling shining from her eyes, and I know that she's holding in some smart-ass comment—she has too much of me in her not to. But she keeps it in, even though I really deserve to be torrented with a hoard of jesting insults since I haven't made a decent meal since we got here. I need to get some (more) cooking lessons from Mom. She's an excellent chef (even if her food is a bit too spicy for my taste).

As Rose and I sit around, pecking at the completely roasted hot cakes (I'm wondering if I could sell them as hockey pucks) when Dad shows up. Rose doesn't perk up like she usually does—I mean, she perks up a little, but not that cute hyper thing that she generally does. I hope that's not a sign of things to come. This set up is just too nice for all three of us to lose.

I say goodbye to both of them and head on to work. It's a very pleasant day, so I decide to walk. However, it's not five minutes before a taxi tries to run a light and nearly hits me as I cross the street. I turn at him and scream, "WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, SHITHEAD?!"

And of course as soon as I turn around, I trip over the curb, falling flat on my face. I let out another stream of curses and push myself up. The right side of my face has to look terrible and my hands are skinned up, but, other than that, I feel fine. I stumble the last few blocks and enter my shop, glad to be done with the Walk From Hell. I walk straight to the bathroom, May tailing me. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I tripped on the curb," I say as I look in my reflection. The entire side of my face is an angry red, brighter near my eyebrow, cheekbone, and jaw, as well as a large cut going across my cheek (from a loose pebble, maybe?). It's already starting to turn purple. I look like shit.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No, I'll be fine," I say, turning to her. But there's something so un-May about her today. Her makeup is a little tamer and her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. She's not smirking that ever-present smirk either. "You okay, though?"

She shakes her head. "Michal broke up with me." Her voice cracks.

She and Mike had been together for two years. I haven't met him, but no one in the family really likes him, so I don't imagine I would. However, I still hug her and console her and tell her that I'm sorry, since that's what I'm supposed to do as her sister. After we hug it out for a few minutes, I ask her, "Do you want the rest of the day off?"

She nods. "If that would be okay."

"You've never really taken many days, so go ahead. Go to a spa or some sort of show or something…"

Her eyes squint a little. "What's Rosie doing this afternoon?"

"Hanging out with Dad. Why?"

"Would she like to go see a matinee with me? We'll have a little girls' day. And ice cream. Lots and lots of ice cream." There's a tiny smile on her face.

"That sounds like a good idea. She'd love it. Wait, just let me get you some money for her ticket—"

"Nah. I got it. I haven't given her her belated birthday present yet."

I nod and pat her back. "Alright. Have fun."

She heads off, leaving me to work. Nothing really happens out of the ordinary until Hannie comes in, having had to take her husband to the doctor (more so wanting to hear the doctor's instructions because, in her words, 'that stubborn Bernie wouldn't listen to God if he was telling him what to do'). She takes one look at me and asks, "Do I want to know?"

"Fell on a curb."

"Come here," she says, and I allow her to pull me closer to look at it. "You need stitches."

"I think I'm fine."

She shrugs, making her exaggerated 'alright' face that makes her vaguely froggish. "Fine. You'll have one hell of a scar, though."

"But it's not that deep—"

"I raised five boys. I know when a cut needs stitches. Anything that's more than a scratch on the face needs stitches."

I sigh. I guess she has a point. "_Okay_. I'll just finish the order first."

I do and then, as promised, I head off. There's an hour wait at the nearest walk-in clinic, and then I see a doctor who quickly gives me eight stitches and then some antibiotics to put on the wound and my skinned palms before sending me off on my way. I stand there and think. I could go back to work. However, they're not expecting me back anytime soon, so I decide to go do something that I think I need to do.

I ride a taxi down to the park and sneak into the park that holds the portal. I get to the back and look down at the covered hole. I open it up and jump down before I chicken out. I keep my eyes closed until I land with a solid thump, thankfully on my uninjured side. I'm back in Andalasia, bad memories already flooding my system. While New York is starting to finish the day, Andalasia is only waking up. I trudge into the castle, ignoring the shocked faces, inquiries on what happened to my eye, and questions about what I was doing wearing men's clothes. I just ask where Edward is, get my answer, and keep on walking.

I find him in the planning room, writing, all alone at the end of a large table surrounded by the tall bookshelves filled with law books. I gently knock on the door frame and pull the knob behind me. He does a double take. "N—Nancy?"

"Hi," I say, trying to sound soft so he knows that I'm calm.

He rushes up and takes my hands, but I wince because of the damaged skin. He looks horrified. "Nancy, what happened to you? Are you alright, my…?"

He catches himself before he calls me, 'my love', as he usually does. He's as foreign to us fighting as Rose is and he doesn't know how to respond. So, to help ease him, I say, "I just fell. I'm fine." And then I kiss him. It's chaste and sweet, but the affect is immediate, his eyes melting into their average warmth.

He pulls me into his arms and holds me. We stay like that for awhile, just enjoying each other. I missed him so, so much. But I can't stay here forever, so I pull back, smiling. We sit down next to each other, turning the chairs so that we can face each other. "I, uh, I just came here to talk to you about the other day. I—Eddie, I overreacted and I was angry in general but I shouldn't have taken it out on you and—and—I'm sorry. I really am. I was wrong to yell at you like that."

"But, my love, I was wrong to abandon you and Rose like that. I've…I've been thinking, a lot, about that. You make a good point, on several different things. Rose is better off away from here—for now. I don't know about the future, but this isn't a good place for her."

"She wants to come back, to fulfill her duties as a princess. I know she's as scared as I am."

"So she needs to stay there. But she also needs two parents. I…I didn't realize how short the trip to your flat was until I made it the other day…we might be able to work out something so that I can travel back and forth frequently, so that I can do both."

I can't hold back the grin that takes over my face, making my cut ache from the skin moving. I don't care. The idea of him coming to New York with me, living there, traveling here just when he has to—it makes me ecstatic. I wrap my arms around him tightly and then kiss his cheek. "Really?"

He's smiling. "Well, they never need me once the sun goes down—unless it's for a ball or an emergency. I thought maybe I could stay with you in the evenings and just come here in the daytime to work, just until we can put together something better."

I can tell he's been working on this plan for awhile. I'm so glad he put it together. But then something comes to mind. "But, there's a time difference. It's about eight hours earlier in New York than it is here."

"I thought about that too."

Holy crap. He's been working hard on this.

"But I asked our mage consultant. He said that there's a way to align them with a spell. He said it would take about a week to put together, but he said that it is possible."

"So we can actually do this."

"Yes. And we can be together."

I sigh. "Okay. We'll do that." I ease over, no longer able to handle being physically separated from him any longer. I sit on him, as if we were puppy-love-struck teenagers, and lean onto his chest, taking in his smell. "I'm so sorry for yelling at you like that."

"It's alright, my love. You're just upset."

"That's not an excuse. You don't deserve that. You're too good to me to get that kind of treatment."

"But—" he says, but then just takes a deep breath. "I don't agree. But let's just enjoy this moment, please?"

We snuggle for as long as my conscious allows, but then I remember that it must be getting late in New York and that I need to be heading back. I kiss him gently. "I've…I've got to go. Rose'll worry if I don't get back soon."

Edward holds me tighter, then lets go. "Okay. Can—May I come this Friday? I'll tell them that I'm going on a retreat or something like that. I can spend the weekend with you and Rose."

I kiss him again. "Of course. I look forward to it. I love you."

"I love you too."

I take in his scent one more time and leave, since I know that the longer I wait, the harder it'll be.

I make my way to the well in the same manner as I came through: ignoring everyone. I just jump down, feeling slightly elated, but mostly bittersweet. I miss him. But soon I'll have him for the entire weekend. That puts me at ease, just a little. I can't wait to tell Rose. She'll be so happy.

I get back to the apartment and am greeted by May and Rose lounging on pillows thrown everywhere on the floor. They're watching…I don't know. It's a musical. Oddly enough, though I find May's obsession with them completely obnoxious(since, although I don't _dislike_ them, I don't have a particular fondness for them, except for Disney; I love Disney), I think Rose is adorable. It's just so…Edward-ish and cute and innocent. I step forward. "Hi, ladies."

Rose is the first to jump up. "Mom! You—Oh, my God, you should've been there—Aunt May showed up and picked me up and took me to a stage show, right? But it's not like the ones we've seen; this one is good! It was beautiful and fun and—and—and—It was just so amazing!"

I giggle at her enthusiasm. I wish I could just bottle her happiness to use in the bad moments. "Great! What'd you see?"

Rose goes on a long-winded spiel on Beauty and the Beast. I can't stop smiling the entire time. I love it when she's like this.

She keeps going and going until she just stops and says, "I'm really sleepy. I think I'm going to go take a shower. Bye, Aunt May-May. Thanks for taking me!" And then she skips off.

I look at May, who looks considerably brighter herself. "Since when can anyone call you 'May-May'? I never get away with that."

"But you aren't half as cute," she says, and I stick out my tongue. "I had fun with her. I might have to take her to another one soon. She just loved it."

"Thank you, so much."

She shrugs, smiling. "No probs. I've gotta go. Po's probably missing me."

"Alright. See you tomorrow." But then, I give her a hug. I don't know why. I just do. And then I tell her, "Love you."

She winces, moving away, making gagging noises. "Geez, Nance. Warn me before you get so freaking mushy. Bleh!"

She moves to leave, but then turns her head. "Love you, too. See ya."

Later, once dinner is eaten and the play talked about (and talked about and talked about some more), Rose and I do our usual couch lazing and television watching. So, I tell her, "I had a pretty busy day too. I visited Dad."

She turns and scrunches her eyebrows. "Yours or mine?"

"Yours." Her eyes widen. "We talked. We're trying to figure out a better way to do this. We think we have a solid plan."

"Really?" she asks. There's a hesitance to her voice.

"I still don't want you there for awhile, just until we get things sorted out. However, he—he came up with this—he thought that he might be able to come here at night."

She sparkles. "Every night?"

"Hopefully. It's going to be a week or two before we know if it's possible. But he's going to come over this weekend, for the whole weekend."

She grins even wider than she had when on her first babble about Beauty and the Beast. "_Really_?"

"Yep."

She just starts giggling and keeps giggling for at least five minutes straight. Finally, she says, "That's so awesome."

"I think so. Also, I apologized for yelling at him. I think I owe you one too. I shouldn't have yelled at him like that—especially in front of you. I—I just…I don't even know. I guess I'm just…upset in general. So…sorry."

She nods slowly, then leans onto me, nuzzling. "It's okay. Now he's going to be here and it's going to be a lot better."

"I think so."

"And we'll all be together, right?"

"Right."

"I can't wait. Though you might want to get Dad to bring you something for your face. You look kinda rough."

No kidding.

* * *

Please review!


	43. Rose: Cut

Okay, I'm thirty minutes late of Friday. I apologize. It's nearing finals week and I'm starting to loose my head. Speaking of which, to everyone, I hope you kick (or kicked) ass on any exams you have (had)!

I don't own.

* * *

Mom tries. She really does. I mean, she just puts so much effort into it, but fails miserably. I almost feel bad for her. She'll slave away, her brow knit in focus and a small amount of sweat visibly building up near her temple. She does it exactly how the book says, but she just ruins anything she touches.

My mother cannot cook.

I hold back giggles as she burns _another_ pancake. This is her fifth burnt. She only made six, and the remaining one wasn't burn—it was destroyed. I'm not sure how she manages to be so bad at it, but she does. I try not to laugh at her, but the fact that she usually ends up glaring at the burnt food like it was some sort of baby-murderer is just kinda funny. Okay, more than kinda. It's hilarious. But I don't laugh. I just humor her and cut at whatever she serves until she's done nibbling at hers (she tries to eat—trying to act like it's not so bad—but she has to know that it is). Then she takes our plates and we get on with the day.

Pop-Pop shows up early and I try not to groan. I really like him, but I'm still tired from yesterday and, honestly, I think trying to get me ready for school is rather pointless. However, I still try to act excited and happy, even though I don't really want Mom to go to work. She does, leaving me and Pop-Pop to go to the park for a decent breakfast (he apparently know of Mom's horrible chef skills). As we pick at our food, he asks me, "So, do you want to keep working, or do you want to space it out?"

"I want to space it out," I say, too quickly. "I mean, I'm just a little fried from everything yesterday."

"Okay," he says. "That's fine. We can just hang out."

I let out a sigh of relief. We then set off to walk the park a little.

However, it's not long until his phone rings, startling me. He answers. "Hello…Oh, hey…Really? Okay. We're just at—you know that little park that's a few blocks from Nancy's?…Yeah, we're there…Alright. We'll meet you at that cafe that's at the opening." He hangs up.

"What's going on?"

"May's coming. She's taking the day off and is going to spend some time with you. She said you two might try to see a Broadway show, if you'd like."

I shrug. "That sounds fun."

We catch her at the appointed place, her coming up and giving us each a hug. "Hello, doll," she says to me. "Ready to have some girl-time?"

I nod and we leave Pop-Pop. We start walking. "So," she says. "How would you like to go see a show?"

"Like, a movie?"

"No. Stage." I inwardly wince. I used to be dragged to plays when I was little (royal duty), but I hated them. Then she adds, "A musical, like Chicago."

Now she's talking! "That sounds cool! They have those?"

"Yeah. That's one of the big things that New York's known for. We've just got to go get our tickets first."

She leads me to where the ticket booth is. The closer we get to it, the more crowded it is, but we keep barreling through, making our way to the big, red booth. She turns to me and asks, "Is Beauty and the Beast good?"

I nod.

We get in line and she quickly orders them. I'm glad we get out of that place, because I really wasn't liking being surrounded by a bunch of people. Once we're out of everyone's way and sitting at a small table, she asks me, "So, care to do a little shopping until we need to head over to the theatre?"

"Sure," I tell her, which provokes a massive amount of chocolate, clothes, and shoe buying. We spend several hours picking out stuff (okay, mostly her picking out stuff for me since I still aren't settled with what the fashions are in this world). The time flies and soon we're settling in the theatre, trying to stuff our bags underneath the seat. We have about ten minutes to go.

"Oh!" she says, abruptly. "I forgot to tell you: your mom got into a fight with the sidewalk this morning."

The mental image of Mom physically duking it out with cement is amusing, yet frightening. "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, she's fine. Just looks a little rough. Don't make too big of a deal about it, though; she can be pretty vain when it comes to her face."

I can't blame her. She has a nice face, even if her nose is a little…nosy. I'm about to reply when the lights go out. At first I'm alarmed, but when the music starts—played by a full band near the bottom of the stage—I relax.

The show is about two and a half hours long, but it feels like fifteen minutes. It's probably the most exhilarating thing I've ever seen, in such contrast to the snooze-fests we had in Andalasia. There was laughing and crying and singing and dancing and—It was just so good. I leave the venue bouncing.

Aunt May takes me to get ice cream afterward and as we're each licking at our respective treats, she delves into story after story of all the shows she's seen (which is a lot). I listen eagerly. I want to go to as many as she goes to. I wonder if I can get Mom to take me to another one. I hope so. We head back to the apartment without incident and watch a movie called Les Miserables until Mom gets home.

When I see her, I resist wincing. She has stitches, sort of like I had, going down her face and several dark bruises covering the left side of her face. But, like Aunt May said, I don't bring it up, and instead start telling her about Beauty and the Beast. "Mom! You—Oh, my God, you should've been there—Aunt May showed up and picked me up and took me to a stage show, right? But it's not like the ones we've seen; this one is good! It was beautiful and fun and—and—and—It was just so amazing!"

She laughs, brightening up. "Great! What'd you see?"

I tell her and then go on about everything, since it was so good she just has to hear everything about it. So I delve into as much detail as I can, as quickly as I can, and when I think I'm done (and when I think she's tired of hearing about it), I stop and say, "I'm really sleepy. I think I'm going to go take a shower. Bye, Aunt May-May. Thanks for taking me!"

So I go and bathe and when I come back, Aunt May's gone and Mom's putting together something to eat. After dinner, we settle on the couch. Suddenly, Mom says, "I had a pretty busy day too. I visited Dad."

I fight off a double take and stare at her. "Yours or mine?"

"Yours."

Oh, crap. Oh, crap crap crap. This isn't good—look at what happened last time. I just—I hated that so much and—

"We talked. We're trying to figure out a better way to do this. We think we have a solid plan."

Okay. That's not bad. That's not bad at all. I think. "Really?"

"I still don't want you there for awhile, just until we get things sorted out. However, he—he came up with this—he thought that he might be able to come here at night."

Just the idea of us all—as a family—here in New York where it's nice and safe and has Mom's family—it just makes this awesome day even better. "Every night?" I ask.

She nods. "Hopefully. It's going to be a week or two before we know if it's possible. But he's going to come over this weekend, for the whole weekend."

And I can tell him all about everything! Maybe we could see a show. I think he'd like them as much as I do. "Really?"

"Yep."

This has been the best day ever. I can't stop grinning and laughing. "That's so awesome."

"I think so. Also, I apologized for yelling at him. I think I owe you one too. I shouldn't have yelled at him like that—especially in front of you. I—I just…I don't even know. I guess I'm just…upset in general. So…sorry."

I want to tell her that there's nothing to be sorry for, but I can't, since that's a lie. She's right—she shouldn't yell at him like that. Neither he nor I can stand it. So I hug her and tell her, "It's okay. Now he's going to be here and it's going to be a lot better."

"I think so."

"And we'll all be together, right?" I ask, just to make sure."

"Right."

"I can't wait." Then, I get an idea. Modern medicine might now help that nasty wound, but a touch of magic might be able to. "Though you might want to get Dad to bring you something for your face," I say. "You look kinda rough." I'm trying to be nice about it, but it's the truth. She kind of looks like a taxi ran over her head.

She sighs and mumbles something. I don't know what it is, but I don't think I want to. We go to bed soon after.

* * *

Please, review!


	44. Nancy: Therapy

Sorry for no update last week-I was really overwhelmed with school and such, but we let out today so I'm back, full force.

I don't own.

* * *

Ahead of me, I spot a dreadful looking shack, with dead vines crawling up the walls and animals innards splayed out on the lawn. But something is calling me into the small building, like an instinctual pull. I cautiously enter the unlocked door. The indoor isn't much better than the outdoor, but it's obviously occupied, since there's semi-fresh food on the table and everything has been recently disturbed. I hear a slight buzzing from further into the building that seems as if it's bigger on the inside. I sneak deeper, easing down a long hallway, until I reach the end of it, at the last door. The buzzing has changed into a slight whine, as if a dog is injured in the room behind the slab of wood blocking me. I take a deep breath and push through.

It's a virtually empty and terribly small space, as well as being filthy. I wouldn't keep an animal in it, let alone a human. But there they are, a big man and a little girl.

He beats her with a large club, letting it fall upon her again and again, each time causing her to erupt into a pained squeal. I'm frozen in my place, unable to move to stop the scene in front of me. The man, with his back to me, lets out a growl and shrinks into an averaged sized woman. She pulls out a gun and shoots the little girl three times. She tosses the gun across the room and turns, facing me.

I'm looking myself straight in the eyes.

She—or me—gives a cocky smirk and fades into air, leaving so that it's just me—the real me—and the girl.

Rose.

Once I realize that it's her I kneel down. I reach down and feel her pulse.

It's not there.

I start doing CPR, but the pressure just causes her bullet wounds to bleed even more, her blood immediately turning black. Her lips grow blue and her skin white. I shake her. It doesn't work. I pull her body close to mine and let out a sob into her hair. I kiss her and tell her I love her.

"Mom?"

I jump in my lying down position, my heart racing at an alarming rate. I quickly glance over. Rose is awake and alert, her face struck in a sad pout. I stroke her face, then wipe the tears off of my cheeks. "I had another bad dream."

"It was about me, wasn't it?" she asks, not meeting my eyes.

I kiss her forehead. "Yeah. It was."

"I died, didn't I?"

"Yeah. You did. I'm sorry." I don't know why I'm apologizing. I just feel bad for her.

"It's alright. I have nightmares about you and Dad like that. Last night I even had one about Aunt May."

"Well, you're going to that doctor today. Maybe she'll have some idea about how to stop them."

"I hope so."

We lounge for a long time, since I'm not going to work and we don't have to be at her appointment until three. It takes me about ten minutes to stop shaking. I can't wait until the bad dreams calm down, for both of us.

We eat out for breakfast (or, well, lunch), so she can have non-burnt food for once. She doesn't eat much, even for her, but I don't press it. She looks really nervous. I tell her, "It's not bad, I promise. She'll just talk to you and ask you some questions. You don't even have to answer them, if you don't want to. You can tell her anything you want to, just…don't reference Andalasia directly, alright? Just stick to the story we made up, okay? But you can tell her the rest. But only if you want to."

She nods. "Okay."

We then leave for the same place I was at. We have to wait for a few minutes before being called back. Dr. Martin is one of those women that have the potential to be freaking gorgeous if they'd just put a speck of effort into it. However, she does not. There's no makeup on her face, her clothes are ill-fitted, and her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She shakes both of our hands and introduces herself. We do the same and then go through all of the paperwork bullshit, just like I had done earlier with my own appointment. But then the woman looks at me and asks, "Mrs. Tremaine, would you mind stepping out for the remainder of the session?" It is not distrustful. It's matter of fact.

I shrug and head back out, where I wait until Rose steps out, still looking antsy.

"How'd it go?" I ask, standing up and walking out with her. She shrugs tightly, so I don't push it. However, once we're tucked back in at home, I ask her, "So, what did you think of Dr. Martin?"

"She's nice. I didn't really like her sending you out, though."

"There was probably a good reason for it. You could ask her, or I'll ask if you want for me to."

"Okay. I'd like that. I just want to know why."

"But was she okay other than that? Do you like her?"

"Yeah, I guess. She was a lot more relaxed once you left. I don't know what that was about."

"She's used to working with kids your age, so maybe she's just a little awkward around parents. I'm not sure."

She doesn't really respond, but goes to bed before me. I would go ahead and go with her, but I want to do a little more investigating on this woman. I search and search some more, but I can't find anything bad about her. There's been several reviews stating that her methods are a little odd, but that she's effective. However, one comment stands out: 'She likes to keep it between the kid and her. She won't say much to the parent unless the parent asks but will have the kid tell the parent but not her.'

Okay. So that's how she works. It'll be hard for me to get used to, but I will.

I go to my bedroom and smile when I see Rose, fast asleep, and looking, as cliched as it sounds, angelic. She's curled up, grasping at the pillow. But then her grip tightens and her face contorts into a grimace. I want to cuddle her and comfort, make the bad dreams go away, but I know that it would just wake her and she would remember it. Maybe if she just rides it out, she won't remember it when she wakes, won't be distressed.

But how distressed is she?

I mean, this morning, she talked about having them, ones where Edward and I die, as if it was a normal, everyday thing. I guess for her, it is. It makes me feel guilty for freaking out like I do whenever I have a nightmare. She just whimpers, but I scream. It has to scare the shit out of her when I do that. Maybe I should work on that.

I fall asleep once I hit the pillow.

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Please review!


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